The Three Gates
by shepsgirl72
Summary: Sheppard and his team find themselves trapped and separated on a planet hiding a secret behind the walls of its great cities – one that has to be revealed to save the subclasses living there from a terrible fate. Shep Whump ahead!
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** Stargate belongs to Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Studios Inc, no infringement of any rights is intended.

**Spoilers:** Possible spoilers for various episodes the first three seasons. The story is set somewhere after Common Ground in Season 3 – no particular point.

**Warnings: **Violence...of course! Adult themes though nothing graphic.

**Summary: **Sheppard and his team find themselves trapped and separated on a planet hiding a secret behind the walls of its great cities – one that has to be revealed to save the subclasses living there from a terrible fate.

Many thanks to **Sterenyk Strey** as usual for her beta. Once again, she is helping me with this although it is not quite finished. Also, I now have extra support from **lizlou57, **who is helping me to weed out those final errors I make with all my constant tinkering! I am, however, only a few chapters away from finishing, and with 27 chapters already written, I feel I can start posting. And yes...I will finish this because I never EVER leave a story incomplete.

Any and all errors remaining in this story are of course mine. After writing this much, I have to confess to a certain amount of word blindness on editing! I will try to post every other day for a start until the final chapters are done and I am happy with my editing. Then I will hopefully be able to post faster...if people want me to.

Oh, and one more thing, please. If you read and enjoy this or any other story being posted, take the time to leave a review. We writers need encouragement and it only takes a few moments. Thanks. :)

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_Hell has three gates: lust, anger and greed – Bhagavad Gita_

The Three Gates

Chapter 1

The connection between pilot and craft was so instinctive he didn't even have to think about what he wanted from the ship anymore. It was as if it read his mind, automatically knowing when he wanted to change direction, altitude or speed, banking, climbing and descending with almost imperceptible smoothness. Sheppard had never given his relationship with Ancient tech much thought before, accepting it as just one of those things he was lucky to have, but it occurred to him now that it was kind of weird...in a way that made him feel special, of course. So, did Ancient tech have an intelligence of its own, he wondered, taking the ship up over a steep rise and on across a grassy plain, and if so, had anyone ever tried to communicate directly with it? Maybe this jumper had an identity separate to that of Atlantis itself...maybe every piece of tech they'd found in the city did. If so, they might all have their own distinct personalities...in fact, come to think of it, he'd always found Jumper Six far more temperamental than all the others he'd flown, needing that extra mental nudge to do what he asked. So, if they were all separate consciousnesses, did they all deserve a unique name? Now that would take some remembering –

'Sheppard! Have you even heard a single word I've said?'

McKay's cutting question sliced through his thoughts and brought him back to the here and now. The scientist had been rattling off various facts and data that, smart as he was, meant precious little to him for the past ten minutes, so he'd shut him out and lost himself in other thoughts while admiring the passing scenery. It was a trick he normally pulled off without a hitch, but this time his mind had wandered off topic for just a little too long, it seemed.

'Yes I have. You were talking about power readings...and possible structures,' he fudged, knowing they were the usual things Rodney scanned for on any new planet. The glare he got in return told him that wasn't going to cut it with his hypertensive friend, though.

'Oh, way to generalise, Colonel Clueless,' McKay snapped. 'I knew you weren't listening.'

'Probably couldn't understand you even if he did,' Ronon grunted, throwing Sheppard a grin as he peered back at him.

'Ain't that the truth.'

Beside him, Sheppard could feel McKay's temper broiling. 'And I suppose that's my fault?' he snipped at the colonel, obviously viewing him as the easier of the two men to tackle.

'Well, you do have a slight tendency toward wordiness...' Sheppard pointed out.

'Actually, the words I use are absolutely correct for –'

'What is that?' Teyla asked, reaching past McKay and pointing to something coming into view out of the windshield.

Sheppard's gaze followed the direction she indicated, where he spotted a structure, a circular wall at least twenty metres high by his visual estimation. It stood in the midst of a changing terrain, the land more gritty and sandy, and devoid of all plant growth.

'I'm not sure' he told her, calling up data on the HUD to try to provide her with an answer. Before he could make any sense of it, the display began to break up, scrolling and throwing up absolute gibberish – interspersed with static – that made no sense...pretty much like McKay's earlier techno babble.

'What did you do?' the scientist demanded, squinting as if that might make the readings easier to interpret.

'I didn't "do" anything,' Sheppard snapped, hitting another control to attempt a reboot of the display. When it fired back up it made no more sense than the last screen had, if anything the data was even more erratic in its behaviour. 'Why don't you try figuring this out instead of pointing fingers?'

'Whoa, look at this,' McKay squeaked, holding up his computer tablet for Sheppard to see. 'These EM readings are off the scale. That must be what's sending the HUD screwy. We need to get out of here.'

The screen flickered and died, but Sheppard caught sight of the readings just before it did.

'Yeah, I think you're right,' he breathed, mentally ordering the jumper to bank left and veer away from the walls looming up ahead of them.

It didn't respond.

'Colonel?' Teyla said, her voice laced with controlled panic.

'Thought you said we should get out of here,' Ronon reminded him, and, damn it if he wasn't trying. But that mental link he'd been pondering the joys of earlier seemed to have completely abandoned him, the ship now ignoring him like a stubborn child who wasn't ready to go to bed yet.

'That's the idea, buddy, but the jumper apparently has other plans,' he grunted, attempting to take full manual control. The ship remained unresponsive, heading on its course without even the slightest hint of deviation. 'Any time you wanna step in, McKay!'

As he made his request, all systems died, plunging them into shadow as the ship, still moving at speed began to lose height.

'On it!' McKay yelled, prising off the panel covering the control systems and frantically swapping things around to try to force some sign of life from the ailing jumper.

Sheppard knew he was working as fast as he could, but was conscious all the time of the altitude they were losing far too rapidly. 'McKay!'

'I'm trying!' McKay yelled back at him, redoubling his efforts, but to no avail. He dropped his arms limply to his sides, face pale and eyes huge. 'We got nothing...absolutely nothing!'

His stomach on a quick spin, Sheppard scoured the landscape ahead of them. They'd passed over the section of the circular wall closest to them, and beneath them, within its confines, was some kind of settlement...run down and highly populated if the crowds rushing out from the dilapidated buildings to stare at them were anything to judge by.

In the distance, the wall on the far side of the enclosure came into view. For one horrible moment he thought they were going to collide with it, but they thankfully had just enough height to clear it, scraping the bottom of the ship with a sickening screech. Not that their situation was much better for that near miss. They were still going down – fast.

'Okay, strap yourselves in, people. This is gonna get bumpy!' Sheppard ordered, grabbing his belt and buckling himself in as the others did the same.

He just had time to hear Ronon hiss 'Dammit!' before they impacted hard with the ground and everything slipped away from him.

oooOOOooo

'Oh, yeah...that's gonna leave a scar.'

McKay's whimpered complaint was the first thing Sheppard heard as he began to come round, that and the general groaning and creaking of compressed and twisted metal settling into its new form.

He opened his eyes and pushed his head up from the controls to the sight of the crumpled cockpit and broken panels, and a windshield so filthy with churned up dust he could barely see through it. Rubbing his aching neck, he turned stiffly toward McKay in the co-pilot seat, spotting the tiny cut on his chin he was moaning about. Other than that, he looked relatively unscathed. That was good. Now he could check on the others.

A pained groan from the rear compartment told him everything was not well before he'd even begun to move.

'Ronon!'

He instantly freed himself from his seat and stumbled his way back to his friend, which wasn't easy since the craft was listing to the right. Still, he levered himself through to the rear compartment using various fixtures and fittings until he reached him. Teyla was already with the Satedan, trying to persuade him to lie still while she examined him.

'I'm fine. Stop fussin',' Ronon insisted, batting her hands away with his customary stoicism.

'Thought I told you to strap in,' Sheppard said, realising restraining him was pointless and so helping him up instead.

The big man grimaced, clutching his left side. 'Tried to. Belt wouldn't work.'

'McKay...'

'Hey, don't blame me,' Rodney said, instantly defending himself. 'I added it to the snagging list the last time we took this one out. I guess they didn't get round to fixing it yet.'

'I guess not. And I guess you didn't check,' Sheppard barked back at him.

'No...I'm sorry...I didn't anticipate total loss of power and crashing as one of the problems we might encounter on this mission!'

'No one ever does. That's what the belts are for!' With the damage already done, it was useless to lay blame at anyone's feet, and now Ronon was upright, he didn't seem so bad. 'You okay, buddy?' Sheppard asked, reaching out to clap his hand on Ronon's shoulder. As he did so, blood began to drip from his forearm, just one spot at first, but swiftly followed by several more.

'Aw, crap!' he grumbled, finding a tear in his right sleeve and pulling it open to see a deep gash in the skin beneath. The smashed controls had obviously cut right into him. 'That's all I need!'

'Here, let me help you out of your jacket,' Teyla offered, pulling it free from him and turning his arm over so she could see the injury more clearly. 'Sit down...both of you. I will get the first aid kit.'

'Any chance you can fix –' Rodney had wandered through from the forward section to join them, but, seeing Sheppard bleeding profusely, decided against finishing his request. Instead, he dabbed at the nick on his chin with the back of his hand, easily stemming the blood flow. 'Never mind.'

He dropped heavily into the seats opposite Sheppard and Ronon, struggling to stay put because of the angle they were leaning at, as Teyla retrieved the first aid kit from an overhead compartment and began to tend to them.

Now he knew the injury was there, Sheppard's cut began to throb like crazy. Not surprising since there was a piece of the panel still imbedded in it, a small one that Teyla now carefully removed with some tweezers and set down out of harm's way. It hurt as she removed it, but the pain lessened almost immediately after its withdrawal. The tension that had built in him began to ease with its passing.

Since Sheppard was the one losing blood Teyla treated his wound first, despite his best attempts to guide her toward Ronon. The big man was quiet, even more so than usual, and Sheppard felt certain he was hurting worse than he was letting on.

'You all right there, buddy?' he asked, biting back a hiss as Teyla swabbed his arm with iodine. She offered him an apologetic smile, but continued to do it anyway.

Ronon just dropped his head back against the seats and sighed. 'Already told you, I'm good,' the Satedan insisted, but he looked decidedly uncomfortable, even as he said it.

'I'm surprisingly good, too, in case you were wondering,' Rodney butted in, clearly annoyed that no one had asked him about his condition yet. 'Although I think I have a crick in my neck...'

'That's good, Rodney,' Sheppard said through gritted teeth, as Teyla wiped his injury again, then stopped and hunted through the kit for the next torture implement she needed. 'And you, Teyla?'

'Aside from a few bruises, I am well enough,' she assured him, pulling a packet of Steri-strips from the kit and tearing them open with her teeth. She applied them as carefully as she could, but the cut was wide and it took a lot of effort to pull the edges together. Sheppard tried not to show how much it hurt because she was doing a fine job under their present circumstances. Once she'd applied four strips, she thankfully seemed content with her work and finished off by wrapping it with a field dressing. 'That should stop the worst of the bleeding and keep it clean, but it needs proper medical attention,' she told him, squatting now before Ronon and persuading him to let go of the side he was favouring.

Teyla gently lifted Ronon's shirt and Sheppard's stomach did an involuntary flip as he saw the bruising on his friend's side. It was already dark purple, showing he'd taken quite a hit on impact. He made a mental note to give the mechanics hell about letting them take out a defective jumper without at least warning them things hadn't been fixed. It looked painful to him, but, Ronon being Ronon, showed no real sign of just how much it had to be troubling him.

'I should strap your ribs,' Teyla told him, but he shook his head.

'It's not that bad.'

Teyla glanced Sheppard's way and he gave a barely perceptible shake of his head to tell her to let it go. Ronon preferred to get through things his own way; he'd eventually tell them if he needed help...hopefully...and until then it was better to give him space.

'So what now?' Rodney asked, looking round at them all. 'The ship's dead, so we can't call for help, but you guys need to see a doctor. You wanna sit here and wait for someone to come through and help, or go looking for help ourselves?'

'I'm thinking we should contact Atlantis if we can, tell them we're okay and we're gonna head back toward the gate for a pickup. Think you can get the radio going?' Sheppard asked.

'No way,' McKay said with a grim shake of his head. 'I already checked. We have zero power...not even a flicker. The circuits are completely fried.'

That was not what Sheppard needed to hear, and for once he suspected McKay wasn't just exaggerating to make himself look even smarter when he got things up and running. 'Okay...in the absence of that option I say we start walking,' Sheppard announced, getting to his feet and checking his weapons. 'We know what direction the 'gate's in, and it shouldn't take us more than six or seven hours to get there.'

'Six or seven hours!' McKay whimpered. 'That's...that's...'

Sheppard shot him a "must you do this now?" look, and the scientist backed down.

'That's obviously our only course,' he conceded, taking one last look at his tablet and finding it as lifeless as the rest of their tech. 'Oh, well. At least I won't have to carry this along with me,' he sighed, tossing it onto an empty seat.

'See, every cloud...' Sheppard smirked, clapping him on the back as he headed past him to the rear hatch.

Of course, with no power, the hydraulics didn't work, so Sheppard rammed his shoulder to it and managed to get the obdurate door open a few inches. McKay and Teyla joined in, and even though Ronon really didn't even seem comfortable with walking, he loaned his considerable weight. With teamwork and brute force they soon had the hatch open far enough for them all to slide free from the crumpled ship.

Once clear, Sheppard looked back at the buckled jumper, watching the smoke swirling elegantly from its damaged engines and circuits. If jumpers really did have a personality all of their own, he figured this one would be feeling pretty sorry for itself right now...except the lack of power meant it most likely wasn't conscious of anything. That was probably for the best.

As they began their trek, Sheppard couldn't help but notice Ronon's slight limp and strained expression. If they'd had a choice he would have suggested he wait for them to return with help, perhaps left Teyla there with him, but with the 'gate so far away, and no real knowledge of what might lurk on the planet they'd crashed upon that really wasn't an option . He just had to hope whatever stubbornness was keeping the man upright held firm until they made it through the 'gate to Atlantis.

oooOOOooo

In her office on Atlantis, Elizabeth was lost in concentration processing requisition orders when the sound of someone clearing their throat in the doorway disturbed her from her work.

When she looked up, she found Chuck loitering there, giving her a sheepish smile. 'Sorry to disturb you, Dr Weir, but I thought you might like to know Colonel Sheppard's team is thirty minutes late checking in.'

Glancing at her watch, she allowed herself a brief moment to wonder where the time had gone before asking, 'Have you tried to contact them?'

'Yes, Ma'am. But so far, no success – just static.'

They hadn't seen anything to worry them about the planet when sending through the MALP; the Stargate had been seated on a dais amid lush greenery, with no sign of settlements or indigenous life forms in site. The likelihood they had met resistance before cloaking was therefore remote. If they were late getting in touch, there had to be another reason for it.

'Maybe there's some kind of interference and they're having trouble getting through. Give them another half an hour to find some way to communicate...but ask Major Lorne to have his team on standby.'

'Yes, Ma'am.'

He scooted away to carry out her instructions, while Elizabeth tried to get back to her work. A half an hour delay in reporting in wasn't normal, but it wasn't unheard of either. Sometimes teams got caught up in discussions with locals that they didn't want to abandon because they were...delicate, so she'd learned to allow a buffer of around an hour before worrying too much. But the protocol was that she should be kept informed of any late contact the moment the half hour mark passed, so she could make the decision about when it was time to act.

Yet, as she tried to get back to her work, that gut instinct for trouble she'd developed since arriving in the Pegasus Galaxy really started to nag. This was Sheppard's team, after all, and for some reason they acted like a magnet for trouble.

She stood up, stretching out her back and then pouring herself a cup of coffee, strong and black. Carrying it to her office door, she leaned against the frame and gazed at the Stargate, as if merely watching it would bring the contact she wanted to hear. It didn't work, the 'gate remaining inactive as if to mock her.

With a sigh, she hugged her mug between both hands and returned to her seat, gazing listlessly at the paperwork. With Sheppard's propensity for getting into trouble, those requisition forms weren't going to get signed off until she knew what was happening on MX6 858, so there was no point in even trying to kid herself that she was going to get through them any time soon.

Instead, she turned to her laptop and fired up a game of solitaire. That way, she still looked the picture of calm and productive serenity to any member of staff who might approach, while the game hopefully distracted her from her worries.

After five minutes, she had already lost the first game, very badly...simply unable to concentrate on even the most basic of moves. She sighed and checked her watch again, listening in the hope the 'gate would spin into activity. It didn't.

Something told her the next twenty minutes would be the longest of her life. Still, that gave her time for a rematch...

oooOOOooo

Swigging from his water canteen, Sheppard checked back over his shoulder to see if the others were keeping up. He couldn't help but get a sinking feeling when he saw Ronon bringing up the rear, and not through choice it seemed. Though they had only walked the several hundred yards the jumper had managed to clear and then slide along after crashing, his face clearly showed all the signs of the pain he was reluctant to admit to, the truth now impossible to hide. He was struggling...struggling but determined.

The huge walled encampment they'd passed over after losing power was only yards away now, so the colonel decided that once they were in its shade they could take a rest and give Ronon a chance to recover from the walking.

The walls looked even higher from this angle as they approached them, tall and solid and completely blemish-free. Insurmountable, he realised, running a hand over the pristine smoothness of the rendering covering them. And he couldn't see a gateway in the vast expanse of wall stretching out as far as he could see. In a structure this big, was there really only one way in or out?

Ronon caught up with the group and leaned heavily on the wall, his face pale and his skin damp with perspiration. The short trip should have been a cakewalk for the big guy, but even that reasonably easy trek had taken it out of him.

Sheppard recognised Teyla's worry as she looked in his direction, and even though he knew Ronon would deny any problem, he asked, 'You sure you're okay there, Ronon?'

'Just got a stitch,' he lied, holding his ribs exactly where he had before starting the walk.

'Yeah, me too,' Rodney panted, slumping down in the dust and leaning his back against the formidable structure. 'And a headache. And it's so damn hot!'

'Maybe if you took off your jacket...' Sheppard suggested. Teyla had shed her uniform jacket before setting out, and he'd already removed his to have his arm treated. They'd tied them around their waists in case the night came in and was cold as it could be in desert areas, and he was glad he had. It was warm, though not dry heat as he had expected. No it was decidedly humid, which had him wondering why no plant life was surviving here. But there was nothing; the area was completely barren.

'Are you kidding? In this heat I'd cook like bacon! Have I mentioned I have very fair skin?'

'You know...I think you may have mentioned that,' Sheppard drawled, casually cleaning the dust from his shades with his T-shirt before slipping them back on. He had a headache brewing too; the shades helped to ease it a little in the glare of the sun.

'Perhaps there is someone behind these walls who can help us,' Teyla suggested, laying her palm against the smooth render. 'I will look around for a door and see if I can contact someone.'

'You wanna go in there?' McKay snorted. 'Didn't you see how run down that place was when we flew over it? I think we should stay right out here and head for the 'gate. That way we might get treatment without getting even sicker in the process.'

'You're not even sick, McKay,' Sheppard pointed out.

'Exactly. And I make it a habit not to go looking for help from people who look like they need it more than I do.'

'Yeah, you may have a –'

Sheppard didn't finish his sentence...couldn't in fact. His brain turned to Jell-O at that moment, his jaw hanging slack as a wave of despair washed over him like nothing he'd ever experienced before. He felt sick to the pit of his stomach, and his ears reverberated to the sound of cries for help, hundreds of them, all clamouring to be heard. Then, one voice rang out clear above the others, silencing them instantly.

_He has come._

The colonel didn't even feel the impact as his body folded to the ground.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thank you for all the reviews and alerts/favourites. Please keep them coming and feed my poor, overworked muse! :)**

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**Chapter 2**

'Sheppard! Sheppard! Wake up!'

The heat, dusty taste in his mouth, and importunate tapping on his cheek made the colonel think, for one confused moment, he was back in Afghanistan, being assaulted by an annoyingly persistent fly. He swatted at it, making contact with something rather more solid.

'Ah, here he is. Come on now, Sleeping Beauty, how about showing us those peepers of yours?'

Sheppard forced his eyes open to see his three friends crowded over him, their faces coming into sharper focus with each blink. 'What the hell...?'

'You passed out, Mr "Maybe if you took off your jacket". Don't you remember?' Rodney asked, his expression a mixture of relief and amusement.

Allowing Teyla to help him sit up and hand him his canteen of water, he gave the scientist a withering look. 'Not really. I'm pretty sure one of the fundamental things about passing out is you don't actually remember it.'

He rubbed the back of his head, finding a bump raised there. Apparently, his collapse had been pretty sudden since no one had found time to break his fall. He looked up at the wall and felt an instant sense of oppression, as if it was pressing down on him. Suddenly, getting away from it seemed like the most important they had to do.

'We should get moving,' he announced, clambering clumsily to his feet and dusting himself off, then starting out in a direction they hadn't originally been heading in.

'Er...Sheppard. You sure you're okay?' McKay called after him, staying just where he was.

When he turned, Sheppard found the three of them rooted to the spot he'd just vacated and looking at him oddly.

'Are we not continuing toward the Stargate?' Teyla asked, taking a few tentative steps in his direction.

Sheppard turned his gaze in the direction he knew the 'gate to lie in. Common sense told him that was their best plan...to get to the Stargate and get the help Ronon needed...but his gut was telling him something else completely. He looked behind him, a direction sitting at a ninety-degree angle to the one they had originally decided to follow.

'No. We go this way,' he said, setting off again.

Running to catch up with him, Rodney planted himself in front of the colonel. 'Care to explain why?'

Sheppard stopped, looking Rodney straight in the eye. 'Just a feelin',' he told him, shouldering him aside with no more force than necessary and continuing.

'You know, I think you may have hit your head harder than we thought,' the scientist called after him, but Sheppard didn't bother to reply. He was right about this. They just had to trust him.

He walked on, hearing the footfalls and whispers of his team following on behind him. Aware that to them his behaviour was, at best, weird, he let them rattle on without comment, catching the odd word. Concussion was said more than once, but McKay managed to make it sound all the more melodramatic by adding in a good dose of "possible brain damage". Just like McKay to blow things up out of all proportions.

They trudged on, and eventually he saw the colour of the gritty, red soil change to black under his feet. He stopped and waited for the others to catch up, kicking at it and finding the staining went down deep into the ground. It formed a line maybe three feet thick that curved around parallel to the walled enclosure behind them, as if someone had used a marker pen to circle the place on a map.

'What d'you think caused this?' he asked McKay, bending down and rubbing some of the darker dust between his fingers.

'Well, since I'm not a geologist and I have no equipment to take readings, I have no idea...but it might not be a good idea to do that.'

Sheppard sniffed the black dust, but it smelled no different to the redder dust lying either side of it.

'Please tell me you're not going to taste that, too!' McKay whined.

Sheppard let the dust drop and wiped his hand on his shirt. 'Looks like some kind of marker...the line is too definite to be anything else.'

'Oh, well done, Sherlock. I could have told you that much,' the scientist huffed, folding his arms and glaring at him. 'Surely the more pertinent question would be what is it "marking"?'

'Who's Sherlock?' Ronon grunted, bending a little as if trying to alleviate his pain. If anything, he looked paler than before, and Sheppard again wished he could suggest his friend stay put while he and McKay carried on. But something inside him insisted they should press on in the direction they were headed, even if his rational mind was telling him he should get his friend back to Atlantis. Something was calling to him, and weird as that realisation was, he felt it was something important...something he couldn't just ignore...something that would actually save Ronon's life.

'I'll explain it some time,' he said in answer to the Satedan's question, looking back toward the huge wall now a long way behind them. The answer to Rodney's question lay beyond those walls, he was absolutely certain of that fact, and he still felt the need to put more space between them and that enclosure. The sense of despair it awoke in him was almost overwhelming even at this distance. 'You okay to keep going, Ronon?'

The Satedan nodded, but looked decidedly unsteady on his feet as he straightened up. A quick glance at Teyla told Sheppard she was worried about Ronon, too, but if there was one thing he knew about the man, Ronon would not admit he was struggling until he couldn't take another step. He figured it was best to keep walking until that moment came, and then they'd have to figure out a way to carry the man until they got to...wherever the hell it was they were heading.

He started out again, this time Teyla hurrying to catch up with him and pass him the sunglasses she must have removed from him when he collapsed. 'I do not mean to question your judgement, Colonel, but why are we heading in this direction? I feel certain the Stargate lies in the direction we first set out in.'

He shrugged, slipping on his shades as they walked. 'Gut instinct...I don't know...maybe I saw something over this way when we were flying – something I didn't consciously notice – all I know is I'm sure we'll find the help Ronon needs this way a lot quicker than walking back to the 'gate.'

She gave him a smile as she looked up at him. 'Your instincts are usually sound. I am happy to follow you if your heart tells you this is right.'

'Thanks, Teyla,' he smiled back, glad to have her support, but feeling a little guilty that he hadn't told her the whole truth. It wasn't just gut instinct, but an irrepressible urge that drew him on that way. And he was dragging them along with him.

'And how are you feeling?' she continued. 'You look well now.'

'I feel it,' he assured her. 'Not sure what happened back there, but I feel fine.'

'That's good. You seemed so confused before you collapsed that I feared you might have injured your head in the crash.'

Just then, a noise carried to him on the air, a droning sound somewhere in the distance. He stopped, noticing the others looking around for the source of the sound, too. So, not his imagination? He really had heard it.

After a few minutes, something came into view, a transport vessel of some kind, but not like anything they'd seen on any other planet. This one rose above the ground and hovered at a height of a few feet, rising clear of any obstacles and so giving the driver a clear run directly in their direction.

Sheppard and his team came to a halt and waited. It was clear whoever was controlling the craft had seen them and was heading in their direction. They just had to hope whoever it was turned out to be friendly. All the same, Sheppard prepped his weapon and kept his hand on it, and from the corner of his eye, he saw Teyla do the same.

After several minutes, the vehicle arrived, drawing up in front of them. The craft's roof completely retracted, pulling back to allow the pilot to stand and address them. 'Hello there, friends. I may be wrong, but it looks to me as if you're lost!'

'Not lost...exactly,' Sheppard replied, eyeing the craft covetously. It was a pretty impressive piece of machinery, and his fingers twitched at the thought of taking it on a flight._ Focus, John_, he told himself, _Ignore the shiny!_

'Oh, very well. Then I shall be on my way. I'm sorry to trouble you,' the man called, sitting back down again.

'Whoa, wait a minute!' Sheppard shouted, breaking into a jog as he approached the craft. 'When I said we're not lost, I didn't mean we couldn't use some help.'

The man stood again, giving him a broad grin. 'Ah, then it's lucky I came out this way,' he declared, jumping down from the craft and heading over to them. 'My name is Ashnael, and helping people with problems is what I do best. Jump aboard; we're close to the boundary line so we should be safe, but we shouldn't linger here too long.'

Something told Sheppard this man wasn't all he was claiming to be, but still he persisted in courting his assistance. Right now, his vehicle was their best hope of getting back to the 'gate, although he doubted Ashnael would expect to help them free of charge. There was something of the snake oil pedlar about the young man with the dirty blond hair and bright blue eyes, and that instantly had him on his guard. 'Why not?'

The young man frowned, as if wondering why he didn't already know the answer to that question. 'You don't look like you come from around here,' he stated, scrutinising their dirty and slightly battered apparel. He stepped closer to Sheppard, taking hold of his sleeve and feeling the fabric of his T-shirt. 'Your clothes are strange...are these a uniform of some kind? It isn't one I recognise.'

Sheppard twitched his arm away far enough that Ashnael's grip on his sleeve slipped. 'Yeah, well, like you said, we're not from round these parts. We came through the Stargate in our ship and took a nosedive after we lost power. Now we need to get back to the 'gate. Think you can help us with that, Ashnael?'

'Of course – consider it done,' Ashnael replied, his eyes now fixed firmly on Ronon. 'You do not wear their uniform. Do you serve them?'

Ronon stiffened at the mere suggestion, but was worryingly reserved compared to how Sheppard would have expected him to react. Sheppard knew that wasn't a good sign, so pressed Ashnael again for an answer.

'No, Ronon is as much a part of this team as the rest of us. My name's Lt Colonel John Sheppard, this is Teyla Emmagan, Ronon Dex, and this here is Dr Rodney McKay,' he said gesturing to each of them in turn. 'And we're all real pleased to meet you, but like I said, we need to get back to the Stargate as soon as possible and we'd be very grateful if you could help us out with that, Ashnael.'

He emphasised the man's name, trying to ensure he had his attention, but again he seemed inexorably drawn to the Satedan, unable to even look away from him. 'You truly are the biggest man I've ever seen. How tall are you?'

'Big enough to kick the crap out of you if you don't tell us if you can get us back to the 'gate!' Ronon growled, straightening up to his full height despite the obvious pain it caused him.

'Easy, Chewie,' Sheppard soothed. 'I'm sure Ashnael didn't mean to ignore me...again.'

Ashnael shied away from the Satedan, shuffling slightly in Sheppard's direction. 'I'm sorry, John. Yes. Of course I can get you to the Stargate. But why don't you come back to my home first for refreshments. You certainly look like you could use them.'

'Actually, I am a little peckish –,' Rodney began, until the warning look Sheppard shot him cut him short. 'But it can wait,' he added less enthusiastically.

'That's very kind,' Sheppard said, explaining his reluctance in a way he hoped would avoid causing offence, 'but the thing is, we took a few knocks when our craft crashed and it's important we get back to our people and get ourselves checked –'

In the periphery of his vision, he saw Ronon begin to sway, then stumble. Though he leapt to help, he could do little more than cushion his fall as he plunged face first toward the ground, Ronon's bulk just too heavy to stop once it had begun its journey downward.

Winded, hurt, and pinned beneath his friend, Sheppard was grateful when the others rolled the Satedan off him to enable him to breathe again. 'Next time I decide to break his fall, could someone remind me about this?' he wheezed, allowing McKay to help him back to his feet.

'I would, but I fear it would make no difference. You will always try to catch him,' Teyla pointed out, cradling Ronon's head. She pressed the back of her fingers to the Satedan's forehead, clearly troubled by what she found. 'He feels feverish. I believe he was more seriously injured than we realised.'

'Then it's settled. We must go back to my home. It's much closer than the Stargate, and I know a good doctor who can help your friend. I would trust him with my life.'

Sheppard bit back the urge to say he would hold him to that, realising they were now completely reliant on this man's assistance. Plus, that feeling he was following told him this was the right thing to do. His mistrust would have to go on the back burner for a while. He looked to McKay and Teyla, both of them anxiously awaiting his decision. He had no choice. They had to go with Ashnael. 'Okay, but you're gonna have to help us lift him.'

'Of course,' Ashnael said eagerly, taking hold of Ronon's upper half along with Sheppard, while Teyla and Rodney took a leg each. This unceremonious form of conveyance was far from ideal for his injured friend, but Sheppard was painfully aware of how far from the 'gate they were. Right now, they were totally dependent on the kindness of a man they had met only a few minutes ago, a man whom, under normal circumstances, would make him want to check his pockets whenever he left a room.

When everyone else was settled in the back of the craft, Sheppard climbed into the passenger seat where he could keep an eye on their "Good Samaritan". Ashnael flashed him a beaming smile, and set off at a decent pace, soon taking them into a landscape covered in lush greenery and dotted with trees and animals. Though their surroundings looked ever more welcoming, Sheppard himself was consumed by an increasing sense of desolation. He couldn't help but feel this place was dangerous, yet at the same time essential to Ronon's survival.

Ahead of them, another wall loomed into view, this time with a huge set of gates easily visible, even at a distance. For some reason, the voice he had heard just before passing out chose this moment to echo in his head once again.

_He has come._

This was where he was meant to head, he knew that now. So why did he have the feeling they were flying straight into a trap?

oooOOOooo

Five more dismal games of solitaire behind her and with the one hour buffer now passed, Elizabeth called Major Lorne to her office. He arrived within moments, his expression serious despite the keen sense of humour she knew he possessed.

'You wanted to see me, Ma'am.'

She rose from behind her desk and rounded it, perching on the edge as she spoke to him. 'I'm sure you're aware by now that Colonel Sheppard's team have failed to report in.'

'Yes, I'm aware of that, Ma'am.'

'I'd like you and your team to take a jumper to PX3 991 and scan for their transponder signals, see if you can locate them and make contact. Failing that, I want you to look out for anything unusual that may account for their...lateness.'

He nodded, then forced on a smile. 'Who knows, maybe they just got caught up in some welcoming ceremony...It happened to me once.'

'Let's hope so,' Elizabeth nodded, finding some comfort in his words. The major had a quiet confidence about him that always brought things into perspective. His suggestion was a plausible one, and until they knew otherwise, she chose to hold out that hope. 'You have a go.'

He dipped his head and strode from the room, leaving her to her thoughts again. Lorne was an experienced explorer, just as Sheppard was, and he hadn't seemed unduly concerned, so she refused to be either.

She wandered out onto the balcony outside her office and waited for Lorne and his team to descend into the 'gate room. As the hangar bay doors above her slid back, Chuck began to input the dialling sequence, the 'gate bursting into life just as the jumper came to a stop before it.

Weir activated her earpiece and spoke to the team on board. 'Major Lorne, don't take any unnecessary risks out there...and if you can, bring them home.'

'We'll do our best, Dr Weir,' she heard him respond, then the jumper sped forward, breaking through the event horizon and leaving it rippling in its wake.

The 'gate shut down almost the instant they were gone, and the 'gate room felt suddenly very silent and forlorn. Rubbing at the gooseflesh that sensation had raised on her arms, Elizabeth returned to her office and tried to find something else to distract herself with. Solitaire was only good if you felt there was any chance of triumph, and in her present frame of mind, she stood zero to no chance of beating the system.

Instead, she decided it might be a good time to take a walk, perhaps catch up with some of the personnel she rarely got to see who were so vital to their continuing operation, anything to take her mind off the fact she had just sent another team of men into a possibly dangerous situation. But what choice did she have? Hopefully, forearmed with the knowledge that the planet posed a possible threat, Lorne's team would be able to avoid whatever problems may have befallen Colonel Sheppard and his colleagues.

Of course, there was still a chance that they were caught up in some celebratory welcome that they simply couldn't extricate themselves from, and if that was the case, she looked forward to the tales Major Lorne would be able to tell her on his return.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Once again, thanks for the reviews and alerts, etc. They're much appreciated as always. :)**

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**Chapter 3**

As they reached the gates, Ashnael slowed them to a halt, the craft gently lowering to the ground. He jumped out and spoke into a panel at the side of the imposing metal doors, shut tightly against intruders. Apparently, no one got into this city without being granted access. Sheppard leaned over in his seat to try to hear what Ashnael was saying, but missed it completely. Whatever he'd said got a reaction, though, because the gates began to creak open even before their escort climbed back into the driver's seat. They swung inwards, and Ashnael started the craft and took it inside them, stopping once again in the chamber that lay beyond.

'I've alerted the authorities that I'm not travelling alone, and that I need a physician. He should be at my home by the time we reach it,' he told Sheppard as he brought the craft to a stop again and a metallic screech split the air.

'What's this?' Sheppard demanded, his threat alert triggered the moment the doors began to close again behind them.

'Oh, just a precaution,' Ashnael assured him. 'Many in Traginta Duo believe the desert lands that lie between are poisonous. We have to be decontaminated before we go through into the city. Normally, we would all be expected to depart the vehicle, but I have explained that Ronon is very sick, and we have been given special dispensation to leave him where he lies. Ahh, here come the facilitators.'

The facilitators were four figures dressed from head to toe in a special outfit that completely protected them from the environment within that chamber. They carried with them several pairs of goggles and masks, which they advised the team and their newfound friend to put on once they had disembarked, while the facilitators themselves climbed into the craft and helped the unconscious Satedan into his own safety gear.

Though Sheppard wanted to ask for more information, things were moving too quickly for questions, and Ashnael told him if he didn't put on the mask and goggles he would be left feeling ill for days. Considering the fact Ronon was already down, he figured they could do without him getting sick, too, so he followed the instructions, even if it was done with reluctance.

Once protected, they were engulfed in a cloud of opaque gases, its touch leaving Sheppard's skin cold and prickling. The fumes were so thick he could barely see the others through them, and he instinctively gripped his P-90, finger on the trigger so he was ready for trouble should things suddenly go to hell.

Vaguely aware of how much McKay would hate this, he strained to look for the scientist to ensure he was doing okay. As the smog cleared a little, he saw Teyla had already found him and was holding his arm to stop him breaking into a full-scale claustrophobic panic. At least he was in good hands.

Knowing the others were safe meant Sheppard felt happy to stick close to the craft and his fallen comrade. As the gases thinned out further, he could see the Satedan was still unconscious, completely unaware of the decontamination process they were being put through. The whir of an extraction system kicked in then, drawing away what was left of the decontamination fumes rapidly so they could move on. The facilitators signalled that Ashnael should take his transport through the next set of huge, metal gates that had now begun to slowly draw back in front of them.

As he did, Sheppard still stayed close by, all the time aware of how vulnerable Ronon remained and how little he trusted the weasel behind the controls. Through the next set of gates, they were faced with yet another wall, but this time they could at least see the sky above them. Rodney made to remove his mask, but was prevented by a facilitator with a warning wag of his finger.

Ashnael jumped out from behind the controls of his craft and joined them again and moments later, they were blasted by strong jets of air, so strong they were buffeted about, Sheppard steadying himself against the transport, and Rodney and Teyla supporting one another. Ashnael, obviously more used to the feeling, simply set himself a wide base and rode it until the airflow subsided and the facilitators once again indicated they were ready to move on.

When this final set of gates pulled back – these more elaborately decorated with mirror images of an animal not unlike a lion rampant set in bas-relief from the highly polished surface – a bustling society lay behind them, with various vehicles of a similar design to the one Ashnael flew zipping around with no real sense of order or control.

Ashnael jumped back aboard, and this time so did Sheppard. There was nothing stopping the man from zooming away with his buddy on board, so if he had that idea in mind, he was going to have to deal with Sheppard now, too.

To his credit, Ashnael didn't seem at all worried by the haste with which the colonel joined him. Once through the gates, he slipped off his mask and goggles and handed them to the facilitators, instructing Sheppard and his friends to do the same. The facilitators tossed the used items into a container, then disappeared back through the closing gates with them, presumably to begin the process again with someone else.

Ashnael allowed Rodney and Taylor to jump back in and join their Satedan friend, who, alarmingly, had still not stirred.

'Okay, there has to be an easier way of doing that!' Rodney complained scratching at his dishevelled hair. 'I'm gonna itch for a month now!'

'How's Ronon doin'?' Sheppard called back to them, but he could see from Teyla's expression that things hadn't improved.

'He is very sick,' she replied. 'We must get him to help now.'

'Don't worry, Miss Emmagan. Curan Bathraen is the finest physician in all Traginta Duo. He will soon have your friend on his feet again,' their helper called back to her.

With that, he set off at speed, dodging in and out of the traffic with practiced ease. Sheppard hadn't ever thought of himself as a nervous passenger, but he gripped his seat so tightly that his knuckles blanched as they wound through near miss after near miss. It took all his self-restraint not to reach out and grab the controls at some moments.

He peered back at his friends, Teyla and Rodney having wedged themselves in tightly beside Ronon to stop him moving during the nerve wracking flight. They looked as anxious as he felt, but Ashnael appeared to know what he was doing, so they all kept their fears to themselves.

The city was far beyond anything they had imagined possible in Pegasus. Buildings, majestic and metallic, clawed up towards the sky, blocking the sunshine in the streets below as they wove their way through the shadows and the other city people similarly on the move. Sheppard heard Rodney babbling about the size of the place, not to mention cursing a few times when other transporters almost brushed the side of their craft, missing them by merely inches.

At last, after several frantic moments of turbulent flight, their journey ended at a substantial, lofty and well-presented home in a highly populated area. A great set of iron gates opened to give them access, and Ashnael steered the craft into the forecourt, gently setting it down outside the front entrance.

'This is your place?' Sheppard asked, slipping out of his seat and heading back to help Rodney and Teyla lift Ronon out of the vehicle. 'It's kinda big...'

'It certainly is. And bought with my own hard-earned money,' Ashnael replied proudly, beckoning to two young men who opened the door and ordering them to lend their assistance.

Sheppard's bad feeling about the guy deepened as he watched the subservient way they responded to his command, keeping their heads low and not addressing any of them as they worked. A man who was, at most, in his mid-twenties, who owned a huge house and at least two servants...something just didn't sit right with him. Then, he reminded himself that if he hadn't fallen out of grace with his dad he could have been in a similar position back on Earth and decided to give the guy the benefit of the doubt – for now. Financial success was hardly a reason to convict the guy. Still, his gut was telling him Ashnael was trouble, so the sooner they could get Ronon fixed up and be on their way, the happier he would be.

Ashnael stood by as they all lifted the Satedan's substantial weight, leading the way into his abode, down a tasteful yet richly decorated corridor and into a side room, where they were able to set Ronon down on what looked like a sizeable chaise longue. He didn't even flutter an eyelid.

A man who had already been in there when they arrived now pushed forward, feeling Ronon's pulse, then passing a device over the length of his body and studying the readings.

'Er, excuse me? Who are you and what's that?' Rodney asked, stepping up to the man's shoulder to get a better look at it. Sheppard figured McKay was getting tech withdrawal systems since everything they'd had with them had fried prior to the crash. Hopefully, he could stop himself drooling down this guy's arm before it got embarrassing.

'I am Curan Bathraen and this is nothing to concern yourself with,' the man assured him a little brusquely. 'It is merely a diagnostic tool. It appears this young man has areas of internal bleeding...but nothing we can't fix. We can remedy this with some minor surgery, and then he'll be fighting fit in a couple of weeks.'

'That's great,' Sheppard replied, stepping forward himself now to address the man. 'We'd be really grateful if you could do that and we'll make sure you're reimbursed for your time and efforts.'

Bathraen's eyes darted in Ashnael's direction, and Sheppard couldn't help but wonder why he was looking toward that whelp for his instruction. Ronon's care wasn't down to him, whether they were in Ashnael's home or not.

'Is there a problem?' he asked, looking from one to the other of them.

'No...not at all,' Ashnael said through a tight smile. 'But you needn't concern yourselves with paying for Curan Bathraen's services – I will ensure he receives fair compensation.'

'Why would you do that?' Rodney asked, dumbfounded.

Though Rodney's question sounded a little rude, Sheppard was just relieved that someone else found this as odd as he did. He'd been starting to wonder if he was getting paranoid...although Rodney wasn't the best person against whom to gauge his reaction.

'Call it a gift for new friends,' Ashnael announced with a dismissive wave. 'I'm sure you will repay me in your own way when the time comes.'

'Should I take him to the theatre now?' the physician asked their host.

'Of course. The room is ready for your use, as always.'

As Ashnael's servants returned with this planet's version of a gurney, a thin, flat bed that hovered in much the same way as Ashnael's craft did, Sheppard once again helped them to lift his friend and tried to follow them from the room. Ashnael stopped him with a hand to his chest.

'It would be best if we wait here, John. The room is a sterile environment, and they need to begin immediately.'

'You have an operating theatre in your home?' Rodney asked, his lip involuntarily curling.

Ashnael's eyes drifted around them all as he replied. 'Of course. Everyone of means has such a room in their home...I take it this is not the case where you come from?'

'Er...no...we tend to try to avoid ending up in operating theatres wherever possible,' the scientist informed him.

Rodney looked Sheppard's way, and he just shrugged in response. It sounded weird to him, too, but right now, having a theatre in Ashnael's house meant Ronon could be treated without the need for him to be moved anywhere else, and that had to be a good thing.

'Well, here on Traginta Duo, those of us who can afford it have surgery in our own homes since it has been proved people recover more efficiently when confined somewhere familiar and relaxing. We not only have a theatre, but a recovery room, too...a safe, clean environment where Ronon can get over the operation. You'll have your chance to see him later when we get that arm of yours fixed up, John.'

'Uh, there's no need for that –' Sheppard told him, but Ashnael caught hold of his right arm and turned it over so his inner forearm was visible to everyone in the room. The bandages were heavily bloodstained, his injury no doubt aggravated by lifting his sick friend.

'Oh, I beg to differ,' Ashnael said, keeping hold of him. 'As soon as Bathraen has finished with Ronon he'll fix you up as good as new.'

Sheppard pulled his arm free, uncomfortable with the invasive personal contact. 'Like I said, that's not necessary. My arm can wait until we get back to our own people. All we need is to get Ronon fit to move, and then we'll head back to the 'gate.'

Ashnael's face dropped, and although Sheppard knew his tone and body language had probably caused the man offence, he couldn't bring himself to apologise. If Ashnael was genuinely just trying to be friendly he would understand their need to get home as soon as Ronon was patched up.

Seconds later, the young man forced his smile back on and crossed the room to a bureau, which he unlocked to reveal several the bottles stored within.

'You and your friends have been through quite an ordeal today. Why don't I get you all a drink to settle your nerves?' he suggested, pulling out four finely cut tumblers and setting them out in front of him.

'If it's all the same with you, we'll pass on that,' Sheppard said, although right now, a good, stiff drink would hit the spot very nicely.

'Oh...I see. Then perhaps I can get you something else?'

Teyla stepped up now, obviously thinking her gentler approach would smooth over the mounting friction between her team leader and their host. 'That is very kind of you, Ashnael, but you have already been more than generous to us. All we need is for your doctor to make Ronon well enough to take home, and then we will not impose on you any longer.'

A more genuine smile lit his face, and the man reached out and grasped her shoulders as he replied. 'You are no imposition at all, Miss Emmagan. And you really should make yourselves comfortable as it is unlikely your friend will be able to move until the morning at the earliest.'

'Oh, I think you're underestimating Ronon,' Rodney snorted. 'Nothing keeps him down.'

'And I think you underestimate how sick your friend is, Dr McKay,' Ashnael said, his gaze a little harder now. 'I know Curan Bathraen well, and he will not let him leave tonight until he is happy that his recovery is underway.'

There was a definite tension growing, and though none of them was saying it, Sheppard could feel his team's mistrust of the man who was supposedly their knight in shining armour. This situation was in danger of turning sour very quickly. It was time for them to pull their necks in at least until they knew Ronon's surgery was complete. Then, they would make Ashnael listen to their request to leave...one way or another.

oooOOOooo

While Ronon's surgery continued, the rest of the team found themselves ushered into Ashnael's dining room, sans the man himself, where several serving boys brought out plates of delicious foods and set them before them, pouring them each a cup of water in what looked like golden goblets.

His senses now on heightened alert, Sheppard still refused to be parted from his gun, even during the meal, a fact he knew put his companions on edge, but he needed them to stay vigilant. Despite Ashnael's continued hospitality, his instincts told him the crap could hit the fan any time. They were stuck here until Ronon was fixed up, which put them in a far more vulnerable and reliant position than he ever liked to be in. Yet this was the way his heart had told him to come...no, he corrected...not his heart, but the sense of purpose that disembodied voice he'd heard had set in motion within him. And it had been right. If they'd headed toward the 'gate, they would now be in the middle of nowhere with one collapsed Satedan and no hope of getting help to him in time. At least here Ronon could be saved.

After several minutes of absence, Ashnael finally joined them, taking up a seat at the head of the table, as was fitting for the owner of the house. 'I have just spoken with Curan Bathraen and he tells me the first of your friend's injuries has already been repaired. He will be out of surgery soon, but as I suspected, Bathraen would like him to remain in recovery for the night before letting him out of his charge.'

'Oh, well, there's a surprise!' Rodney snorted, qualifying it with, 'Most conscientious doctors insist on that kind of thing,' when Sheppard shot him a look that suggested he was heading for an ass kicking if he didn't take it back.

Much as he couldn't help feeling it was convenient himself, he desperately wanted to keep Ashnael on side and oblivious to their concerns until the time came to make a decisive move. And he felt increasingly certain that that moment would be coming soon.

'This food all looks wonderful, Ashnael. You shouldn't have gone to so much trouble,' Teyla said, breaking the awkward silence that had descended. Both she and Rodney leaned forward to collect fare from the platters, McKay quickly filling his plate and tucking in to cover his embarrassment and nerves.

'It's no trouble, Miss Emmagan. Food is a wonderful distraction at times like these, don't you think?'

_But a distraction from what?_ Sheppard pondered, letting his eyes drift around the room, assessing their situation. Right now, there didn't seem to anything around they couldn't handle, although the age of the serving boys left him with an uncomfortable feeling. They were kids, young enough to still be at school if they were on Earth, yet here they were working for this creep. Child labour was something he could never condone.

'Are you not eating, John?' Ashnael asked, drawing his attention back to him.

'Sure,' Sheppard replied, standing up to angrily jab a fork into a plate of meat and slide a couple of slices onto his plate. Sitting back down, he pushed it around a little, but he really wasn't in the mood for eating. His stomach was unsettled by this place. Ashnael's home had all the trappings of a welcome abode, comfortable furniture and good food, but the atmosphere was stifling. Feeling the precocious young man's eyes still on him, he did eventually cut a piece and eat it, just to keep him happy.

'You have a truly beautiful home, Ashnael. Whatever your business here in Traginta Duo is, it clearly provides well for you,' Teyla continued, working her soothing magic on the situation.

'It does indeed. I have no complaints, as you can see,' he grinned, gesturing around at the obvious signs of his wealth. Sheppard could feel the weight of silver in the cutlery he was handling, and the table was dripping with the stuff, every goblet, serving dish and plate made of exactly the same quality of metal. This stuff could not come cheap.

'If you do not mind my asking, what is it that you do?' Teyla pressed, in that gentle, persuasive manner that never failed to draw people out.

Sheppard couldn't help but note the slight hesitation between her question and Ashnael's answer. His smile slipped just a fraction, then he replied, 'I am in...acquisitions. People ask me to find things they need, I do so, and they pay me for my efforts.'

Teyla's eyes slid in the colonel's direction, showing she thought the answer was just as dubious as he did. 'Then you must be a most successful trader. Perhaps when we have returned home and discussed this with our people, we could set up some kind of trade agreement for things we also need.'

'Yes...perhaps,' he agreed, his eyes fixed on her. 'But let's not think of business at a time like this. Take your fill and rest yourselves. Work can wait for another day.'

'That craft of yours looked pretty fancy,' Sheppard piped up, keeping him talking. 'Could you get me one of those?'

'Of course...if you were able to pay me what it's worth. Are you interested in such things, John?'

'I'm a pilot...I'm interested in anything that flies.'

Ashnael suddenly sat forward, his interest fully focused on him now. 'So you're the pilot in your team? Then, you were flying your ship when it crashed?'

Sheppard pouted, the insinuation of the question stinging considering the accident had been outside of his control. 'Well...yeah...but that wasn't entirely my fault...' he replied, a little annoyed to have that brought up right now.

'He's actually a very good pilot,' Rodney said, surprising Sheppard with his unexpected show of support. 'He can fly just about anything he turns his hand to.'

'Then you are very experienced in flying craft?' Ashnael enquired, his interest in him seemingly intensifying.

'You could say that, not that today was one of my proudest moments...' Sheppard replied,

'Do not feel bad, John,' Ashnael assured him. 'Your ship must have passed over one of the Forbidden Zones. They damage all craft that fly too close. There was nothing you could have done.'

'Ahhh, well, I suppose that's good to know,' Sheppard said, faking a smile as he caught Rodney's eye. Although it _was_ good to know it wasn't a fault with their tech, all he could think was that if Atlantis sent help, he hoped the search and rescue teams didn't take the same route they had. And it possibly explained how a relatively advanced race had managed to spring up without the Wraith turning up to cull them. If they'd lost darts over the planet during scouting missions, they would have been reluctant to bring in their hive ships in and risk the loss of many lives.

'And what about you, Miss Emmagan...Dr McKay?' What skills do you two possess?' Ashnael pressed.

'I'm a scientist,' Rodney immediately blurted out round a mouthful of food. 'I'm the senior scientist where I come from, actually.'

'Really. That's fascinating,' Ashnael said, leaning his way now as if eager for more information. 'And what area is your expertise?'

'Astrophysics, theoretical astrophysics and engineering...amongst various other things.'

Ashnael looked completely lost, so Sheppard helped him out. 'He knows a lot of stuff about a lot of stuff.'

'Well, if you want to take it down to such a basic level, yes, that just about sums it up,' Rodney was forced to agree. Then to Ashnael, he added, 'I'm actually considered something of a genius.'

Their host brightened at that. 'I see. Then you must be worth a lot to your people.'

'I like to think so,' McKay smirked. Sheppard rolled his eyes.

'And you, Miss Emmagan? What do you do?'

Teyla was more measured in her response, and decidedly more guarded. 'I have no particular talent. I am part of a team and simply do what is required of me. That is my strength.'

'And Ronon?'

'The same,' Sheppard interjected. They had already said enough as far as he was concerned. Ashnael didn't need to know any more about them than he'd already learned.

The rest of the meal passed excruciatingly slowly, with Teyla doing her best to extract what information she could from Ashnael, and the young man remaining alarmingly evasive.

Thankfully, Rodney, who was visibly growing more agitated, managed to bite back his cynicism, just as Sheppard did. He hated not being up front about his feelings, but with Ronon's life in the balance he was willing to rein in his natural reactions and play the polite guest for a while longer.

Eventually, one of the servants who had originally helped them to carry Ronon in arrived in the doorway and interrupted their stilted conversations.

'Excuse me, I must speak with Dezrin,' Ashnael announced, leaving the table and steering the young man back outside the door.

Sheppard once again tried to overhear what was being said, but Ashnael was careful, keeping his voice too low to be audible at that distance.

'I don't trust this guy! We need to get out of here!' Rodney hissed with far less subtlety.

Sheppard gestured for him to shut up, then whispered, 'I know...I don't trust him either, and as soon as we have Ronon back, we're leaving this place.'

'If he even lets us leave!' McKay whimpered, looking panicked.

'I think I can persuade him,' Sheppard replied, twitching the P-90 still clipped to his tac-vest. 'Just make sure you keep your weapons with you at all times. Hopefully the guy's just a little creepy and means no harm, but if we have to fight our way out of here, we will.'

'If Ronon's in any condition to fight.'

'Have you ever known him not be?' Sheppard asked. If Ronon was awake and vertical, he would be fighting right alongside them...and the vertical wasn't actually essential.

'John, Curan Bathraen is ready for you now,' Ashnael called from the doorway, gesturing for the colonel to follow him.

'We will come, too,' Teyla instantly responded, rising from her seat.

'No need. He will be well taken care of,' Ashnael said, a little too dismissively in Sheppard's opinion. 'You stay and finish your meal.'

'But we should also like to see Ronon,' Teyla pressed, frowning.

'All in good time. For now, it would be better to let him rest. John can quickly look in on him before his own treatment begins if that will make you happier.'

_Go with him..._

It wasn't so much a voice this time, more a feeling...an urge, he supposed. Again, he felt compelled to follow it. Though he didn't like the idea of being separated from the others, he did want to see Ronon again, so he turned to his remaining team and quietly said, 'Stay here, and stay together.'

Teyla gave a quick nod, while Rodney's eyes bulged with barely contained alarm. 'What...you can't be serious!'

But Sheppard trusted Teyla. She would protect Rodney in his absence, and if they stayed there, he would find his way back to them, hopefully with Ronon.

Following Ashnael to an elevator, he counted the floors down. Only two. That way he could find his way back up quickly if necessary. The corridor the elevator doors opened onto was far less luxurious, but very clean, just as he would have expected to see in a hospital. Ashnael stuck with him as he journeyed, which had Sheppard wondering why he didn't trust Dezrin to escort him to Bathraen alone. Perhaps he feared the young man might let a few of his secrets slip, but whatever the reason, Ashnael remained glued to his side until they came to the room where the physician was waiting for them to arrive.

'Please...come in...take a seat,' Bathraen said, gesturing to a very comfortable looking seat sitting empty in front of him.

Okay, so not exactly like a hospital. This place definitely had some perks.

'I wanna see Ronon first,' Sheppard told him, standing firm just outside the doorway.

Bathraen looked to Ashnael, who gave no visible response that Sheppard saw. 'Well...he's still unconscious at the moment...'

'That's okay. I don't need him to see me,' Sheppard told him, insistent in his tone, while maintaining an "I'm just asking" casualness to his stance.

'Very well, but I must ask you not to disturb him. He is strong and fit, and should recover quickly, but he has lost a lot of blood, so will feel weak until that rectifies itself.' The physician pushed past them and walked on a little further down the corridor, opening a door to the left and revealing the sleeping Satedan, hooked up to various machines, but looking far better than the last time Sheppard had seen him.

'You didn't give him any extra blood?' Sheppard asked, thinking it odd that a doctor wouldn't do so under the circumstances.

'I'm afraid we had nothing that matched his blood type. But he was lucky. He still has enough that his body can continue to function.'

'Maybe you should have tested one of my team,' Sheppard suggested, questioning why that hadn't even be considered. 'I'm pretty sure one of us could have helped out.'

'Oh, there was no need to weaken any more of you. Your friend will make a full recovery in time. Now please, Colonel Sheppard, why don't we treat that arm of yours?'

Realising he had no reason to put it off any longer, Sheppard followed the physician back to the designated treatment room. Taking up the proffered seat, he sank into its comfortable upholstery and allowed the physician to unravel the dressing Teyla had applied earlier, exposing the angry looking wound beneath. As he'd suspected, the Steri-strips hadn't survived the strain of lifting his stricken teammate, and the injury was bleeding once again, thick dark blood oozing out through the torn skin.

'That looks painful,' Ashnael said, leaning in to take a closer look. Sheppard couldn't help feeling unnerved by the glint now lighting his eye. Most people would find such an injury unpleasant to look at, but this guy apparently couldn't get enough.

'I'm sure it is,' Bathraen huffed, collecting the materials he needed to begin the treatment. 'What's this staining around the wound, Colonel?'

'It's iodine. Something we use to clean injuries,' he told the man, hissing as Bathraen began his own cleaning process with something that felt far more potent.

'I'm going to have to give you something for the pain before I suture this,' the physician muttered as he worked, soon clearing away the old, dried on blood and the worst of the iodine staining with well practiced efficiency.

'As long as that's all it does,' the colonel asserted, drawing a puzzled frown from the man.

Behind him, he heard movement, and noticed now that both of Ashnael's serving men were loitering in the doorway. Suddenly, he felt rather outnumbered.

'What do you mean?' the doctor asked him, laying down the swabs.

'Nothing that knocks me out, just numbs the area. You can do that, right?' Sheppard clarified.

'Oh...oh, yes. I can accommodate that.'

For some reason, Bathraen was now completely unable to meet his gaze, something that set Sheppard's alert status to red. 'You know what?' he said, as he watched the man load up a large syringe. 'I think I'll forgo the pain meds. Just stitch me up.'

Looking horrified, Bathraen approached with the needle. 'Please, Colonel Sheppard, this would be much easier for you if you allowed me to deaden the pain first.'

'Trust me. I'll be fine. It's nothing I haven't been through before.'

Oddly, Bathraen once again appeared to look to Ashnael for guidance. What kind of a doctor had to look to a man in "acquisitions" for guidance on medical procedure? Something smelled wrong here...very wrong.

Though clearly not happy with the thought, Bathraen agreed to Sheppard's request. He set the syringe back down on a tray of equipment, then put it aside to bring out his suturing kit.

'You know, if you want this to heal without too much of a scar, you need to keep very still while I work,' the physician told him, threading his needle. 'That would be much easier if you allowed me to medicate you.'

'Another scar won't do me any harm,' Sheppard told him, with a crooked grin, but he could see the man was nervous, too nervous for the situation if he was the expert Ashnael claimed him to be.

Positioning Sheppard's arm on the table, Bathraen sliding the suturing needle in, flinching himself when Sheppard again hissed. He took a deep breath before pushing the thread back through the other side of the wound and drawing the edges together before securing and cutting it.

Ashnael pressed in close behind the doctor, watching him work. 'You're a braver man than I, John!' he quipped, something John thought was probably a given for a man who relied so heavily on others to take care of him and his home.

The sound of something crashing to the floor made Bathraen jump just as he was about to put in another stitch.

'Sincere apologies,' Ashnael gushed, stooping to pick up what had dropped. 'I hope I didn't cause you to slip, Curan Bathraen.'

The older man cast him an impatient look as he lined up the needle again. 'Thankfully not, but if you could give me more room to work, I would be grateful.'

Putting the tray back, Ashnael moved away and the doctor pierced Sheppard's skin again, making him tense up and concentrate on riding the pain out. That was until the needle was through and his eyes wandered to the tray Ashnael had replaced, spotting that the syringe was now missing.

He sensed Ashnael behind him, and jumped up so quickly he forced the chair back into the man and threw him off balance. Ashnael fell back, still clutching the syringe, but before Sheppard could get his hands on his gun the two young servants had grabbed his arms and pulled them behind him, fingers digging into his open wound and making his knees buckle with nerve jarring pain.

'Colonel Sheppard, please...the less you resist the better,' Bathraen pleaded, getting a boot in the guts from the battling military man as he tried to add his weight to the struggle.

'Get your damn hands off me!' Sheppard yelled, following it up with every expletive he'd ever learned until someone shoved a rag into his mouth and almost choked him. A punch to his stomach forced the air out of his lungs, and with his throat full of cloth, he struggled to regain it, not that it stopped him fighting on, feeling more blows raining down on him until he was forced completely flat on the floor, pinned there by Bathraen and the servants. All his efforts to break free had come to nothing. He had knowingly led his team into a trap thinking he was smart enough to avoid it, and now it had snapped shut on them.

Ashnael loomed over him then, that same smug smile he'd worn when they met plastered over his pompous face. 'Fight all you want, John, it'll do you no good,' he told the colonel, jabbing the needle into his neck and setting loose its contents. 'Now rest a while. And when you wake up, your new life will begin.'

Sheppard screamed into the rag as the sedative claimed him, but his cries were lost in those sanitary corridors two floors beneath anyone who might possibly care.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Thanks to all of those of you still following the story and sharing your thoughts. It's always nice to hear how a story is beng received. :)**

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**Chapter 4 **

On arriving on PX3 991 Lorne immediately cloaked his vessel and climbed to a much higher altitude to carry out a wide scan, hunting for their missing comrades' transponder signals while hopefully staying out of weapons range if anyone was able to detect them.

The HUD fired up, showing him the results of their scans and revealing no sign of Sheppard's team. 'Okay people, we're gonna have to widen the search,' he reported to his team. Lieutenant Reynolds, sitting in the passenger seat, nodded his understanding.

Banking the jumper left, he flew out over the grassy terrain, examining the data thrown up by the display in front of him while the others in his team watched the landscape rushing by a for anything unusual.

After a short time, Lieutenant Reynolds pointed to something through the windshield, 'I see something up ahead, Sir.'

His discovery coincided with what the HUD showed Lorne, a settlement of quite vast proportions that they were approaching fast. Lorne slowed the craft, allowing them time to take in what they were seeing. It was a huge, walled city, apparently thriving with both human life and advanced technologies.

'Whoa!' Reynolds breathed, leaning forward into the windshield. 'I didn't think anything like this existed in the Pegasus Galaxy!'

'Neither did I,' Lorne concurred, his attention suddenly caught by a new display scrolling up on the HUD. He'd wondered whether there were any more cities like this, and now the display was showing him dozens more, and that was only what lay within the range of their scanners. 'Oh, man! Looks like this problem may be bigger than we thought!'

Over the cities, they detected force shields, apparently impenetrable without being deactivated. The force shield also disrupted their scans, meaning they could only report what they could see through them – the towering buildings crammed in tightly and flying transporters weaving their way through the busy streets. Sheppard and his team could be within any one of these cities, and if there were more, that only served to complicate things still further.

'Okay, let's get an idea of the scale of this place,' the major said, picking up speed again and passing over the enclosed metropolis. The display raced to give him more information, feeding back data of the size and shapes of landmasses, oceans, smaller islands, rivers and lakes, more cities, and then something else.

'What's that?' Lieutenant Reynolds asked his CO, spotting anomalous readings sprouting up over a wide area of mostly unpopulated landscape.

'I don't know, but I don't think it's good,' Lorne replied as the HUD began to flicker. 'It's interfering with the jumper's powers systems. I'm gonna take us away from here.'

He took a sharp left and set the ship back on the course they had just taken. Once he'd done that, the jumper seemed much happier, everything functioning as normal again.

'All right...that's not good,' Lorne grimaced, realising that if Sheppard had passed over that area without running the appropriate scans, he and his team could have feasibly been brought down by some kind of jumper failure. That widened their search area even further, and what was more, meant that those areas could not be covered in a jumper.

'Let's get back to Atlantis,' he said, as much to himself as to his team. He turned them toward the Stargate and headed home.

Dr Weir looked anxious as she welcomed him into her office. She hadn't come to meet them in the 'gate room, and Lorne suspected she was trying to exude an air of nonchalance about the missing team. But her worry was etched in the deep ridges across her forehead as she lifted her gaze from her computer.

'Major. Good to have you back. Any luck?'

'I'm afraid there was no sign of Colonel Sheppard's jumper, Ma'am. But we did gather some recon that might mean this search and rescue is going to be a lot more complicated than we first thought.'

She sighed leaning forward on her elbows. 'Why does that not surprise me?' she quipped with her trademark smirk, but today he could see the struggle she had keeping it up.

'The planet has several developed areas, all walled and shielded. The only way in or out of them appears to be a gate. And that's guarded.'

'So if the colonel entered any of those cities, someone has to know,' she said. 'That has to be useful to us, right?'

'Yeah...but there are somewhere in the region of one hundred cities. I'm gonna need backup if you want us to check them all.'

'One hundred cities. Whoa! I didn't think any civilisation would be able to spread so much,' she gasped, eyes wide with amazement.

'And they're technologically advanced, too,' he told her. 'We not talking Atlantis advanced, but they have some pretty sweet craft they're flying around in.'

Elizabeth's eyebrows lifted, and her smirk widened into a more genuine effort. 'Really, well, Colonel Sheppard's maybe just caught up test flying a few of them.'

'I hope so, Ma'am. But there was something else. We came across an area of land that had a pretty dramatic effect on our ship. We're not sure exactly what the problem was, but the systems went crazy and for a time there we almost lost power. If Colonel Sheppard flew into that...'

Her smile dropped again. 'They could have crashed,' she finished for him. 'Okay, get together another four teams and start a search around that area on foot. If we can eliminate a crash from the list of possibilities, we know to start searching those cities.'

'Yes, Ma'am. I'll get some teams ready.'

'And be careful out there. Maybe we should do a sweep over the planet first and map exactly how far this troublesome area extends. I don't want to lose any more teams if we can avoid it.'

'Yes,' Ma'am he nodded. 'Sounds like a plan.'

She flashed him a weak smile as he left, and he realised just how much that had sounded like the kind of thing Sheppard would say. _Smooth, Evan. Real smooth, _he thought, annoyed that he might have upset her. _Now go find the man, so next time he can deliver that line himself._

oooOOOooo

When an hour later John still hadn't returned to them, Teyla's anxiety mounted. She paced the dining room unable to settle, while Rodney remained in his seat and picked at the various delicious treats the young serving boys had brought to the table after clearing away their meal.

_More distractions_, she thought, stopping to examine a particularly brutal painting of two men fighting that hung above the elaborately cast fireplace. _I wonder what exactly it is they do not wish us to know yet._

'You should try this stuff...it's pretty good!' Rodney called over to her, pushing more of the sugary treats into his mouth until his cheeks bulged like a foraging gopher.

'I am not hungry, Rodney,' she replied, moving to the next picture and finding it even more gruesome than the last. She hadn't really taken the time to study the paintings during their uncomfortable meal, but now what she saw in them troubled her. 'Do you not sense it, Rodney?'

She turned to face him, seeing his face slacken with worry. 'Sense what? The Wraith?'

Rolling her eyes, Teyla strode his way, gripping the back of the seat beside his. 'The Wraith are not the only thing I am capable of sensing, Rodney. Here I feel...under scrutiny.'

'Well, there are about half a dozen boys watching us from that doorway,' McKay pointed out, dipping his head in the direction of the young servants who were lurking there. They instantly drew back as if embarrassed that they had been so obvious.

Teyla's sympathy for the youngsters welled. It went against her nature to see children in servitude like this and not speak out against it, but it had felt important to stay quiet in Ashnael's presence. 'That is not what I meant, as you well know,' she retorted, a little sharper than she would usually be. This place had her on edge; it wasn't like her to turn on her own teammates this way, but right now, she felt like she wanted to slap Rodney upside the head to make him see her point. Two of their team were absent, although hopefully still in the building somewhere. It gave her the distinct feeling they were being deliberately separated, and from Sheppard's final warning to them, she knew he had also sensed it.

'I think we should go and look for the colonel,' she said, adjusting her grip on her P-90, preparing to move out.

'But he said we should wait here for him,' Rodney reminded her. 'If they come back and we've wandered off that's gonna look weird.'

'If he was able to come back to us himself, I feel certain he would have returned by now. Come, it is time to find both him and Ronon and leave this place.'

Unfortunately, just as Rodney stood to follow her, Ashnael returned with Curan Bathraen, but with no sign Sheppard.

'Where is the colonel?' she asked, putting herself between the men and the scientist Sheppard had left in her charge.

'Do not be alarmed, Miss Emmagan. Curan Bathraen has sutured his arm, and he is now with your friend, Ronon, in recovery. You can join them shortly.'

'I should like to join them now,' she insisted, but he held up his hands, palms out in a gesture of supplication.

'Please...Curan Bathraen is leaving soon, and he just wishes to check you both for undiscovered injuries before he does so. Surely you can spare him that much time?'

'Leaving? I thought he wanted to keep Ronon under observation,' Rodney piped up from behind her.

'He does, but he has been called to another emergency and will return later.'

'Then his checks can wait until then,' Teyla responded.

'Please,' Bathraen said, stepping forward to speak for himself now. 'This will only take a moment, and I would hate to leave without knowing you are both in sound health.'

Teyla glanced at Rodney, who shrugged and said, 'Can't do any harm.'

'You first, Dr McKay,' Ashnael suggested, guiding him a couple of feet away from Teyla, while Curan Bathraen passed his diagnostic device over the full length of him, even down to his boots.

'You know, I have been getting this twinge in my neck since the crash –'

'He's fine. A picture of health,' Bathraen announced, and Teyla let out a sigh of relief. At least that meant he wouldn't be disappearing for treatment any time soon.

'And now you, Miss Emmagan.'

Ashnael signalled for her to swap places with Rodney, which she did, and Curan Bathraen repeated the process. This time, as he passed the scanner over her body, she saw his expression darken, an odd look flitting across his features before he could mask it.

'I'm sorry, Miss Emmagan. The machine appears to have developed a fault. I'll scan you again.'

She allowed him to do so, watching his face again. This time his reaction was even more definite, and he stuffed the device into his pocket to reach out and take her hands in his, turning them over so that they were palm up as he examined them. Then he took hold of her chin, turning her face toward one of the wall lights to look at her eyes.

'What is it? What is wrong with me?' she demanded, frightened by his sudden intensity.

He let go of her then, backing away to stand beside Ashnael while giving him a look caught somewhere between fear and disbelief. 'I...I don't believe it.'

'What did you see?' she demanded again. 'I feel perfectly well.'

'Yes, what is it? She appears to be a healthy specimen,' Ashnael said, and she wasn't the only one to take offence at his choice of words.

'Specimen. What the hell is that supposed to mean?' Rodney yelled, completely losing what little enforced calm he had been clinging to. 'You're talking about her like she's some kind of experiment...or a...or a...culture you grew in a Petri dish.'

'She...she carries traces of Wraith biology within her.' Bathraen clearly couldn't equate the woman he was looking at with what he had seen on the scanner, and was having trouble making sense of it.

Rodney stepped in, trying to calm things down. 'Well, now...you see...that's nothing to worry about. You can tell by looking at her that she's not a Wraith –'

'How did she get through the gates?' Ashnael asked the doctor, completely ignoring Rodney's explanation.

'The Wraith DNA levels are minimal...perhaps their scanners are not as highly attuned as my medical instruments, or perhaps the vapours in the scanning chamber interfered in some way. In all honesty, I don't know how she was missed, but she was.'

'She's not a danger...she has no feeding hand, you can see that!' Rodney tried again.

'Shut up! I'm thinking,' Ashnael snapped, rubbing his hand over his mouth as he looked at her...or rather through her. His attitude toward her had completely changed. She was no longer a guest, but a problem. 'He's right, she doesn't look Wraith; perhaps we could pass her off as normal.'

'I am normal!' she stated firmly. 'And who exactly do you need me to appear normal to?'

'It's no good,' Curan Bathraen said, with a sad shake of the head. 'The first medical scan she has to undergo would instantly show this up, and then your reputation will be ruined. You cannot risk it.'

'Perhaps if I passed her to another trader for a reduced price, let them sell her on and take the blame.'

'The trail will always lead back to you – let it go,' Bathraen told him.

'I don't know why you are talking this way, but my friends and I are leaving...now!' Teyla informed both men, levelling her gun at them and preparing to make them set them all free.

'Er...Teyla!'

The tremor in Rodney's voice as he sounded out that plaintive cry told her they were in trouble even before she looked his way. When she did, she found the scientist looking pale and horrified with his own gun now pressed to his temple. Dezrin, the young man who had helped escort Sheppard to his treatment, had relieved Rodney of his handgun and now held it on him. His arms were spattered with blood, though he himself appeared uninjured. So whose blood was it? Ronon's...John's?

'Lower your gun, Wraith scum!' Ashnael ordered her, his eyes blazing with hatred and disgust. She saw now that he, too, had some bloodstains on his dark clothing. She'd been too worried about her friends to notice the discolouration until now.

She wanted to refuse, wanted to fight her way out of there, but with Rodney in such a vulnerable position, she knew opening fire would be a mistake. Still, giving up her gun didn't necessarily mean she had to give up her hopes of freedom. Moving slowly and deliberately, she unclipped her weapon and handed it over the Ashnael, who also snatched her 9 mil and immediately aimed it at her, looking for all the world as if he was going to pull the trigger. Had she underestimated his cruelty?

'What are you thinking?' Bathraen hissed, pushing the weapon down. 'You cannot shoot her here in your own home. This is a highly populated area. People will ask questions if they hear weapons fire.'

'She is Wraith...no one will care,' he sneered, trying to take aim again.

'But what if they find out about the others. They are outsiders. You know the chaos it will cause should that become common knowledge. The government will seize them and you will be in trouble for not handing them straight over the moment you found them.'

'Who says they are outsiders? As far as anyone who has seen them knows, they are slaves I traded for in Octôgintâ Novem. That's what I told the facilitators.'

The atmosphere, already chilly, now moved to glacial. Teyla couldn't help but feel that Bathraen was a brave man to stand up to Ashnael on her behalf when he was armed and clearly so determined to be rid of her, and she was grateful for his resoluteness. Without it, she would no doubt already be dead

'Their names, their clothes, their demeanour...it's obvious these people are used to freedom. No one will be fooled for long. You should give up on this madness now. You can get the necessary paperwork to leave the city...take them to the 'gate and send them back where they came from.'

Now Ashnael laughed. 'And lose my profits?'

'Would this be a bad time to point out you don't have the right to sell us?' Rodney interjected, following it with a whimper as Dezrin increased the pressure against his head.

Bathraen rounded on Ashnael, infuriated by his greed. 'Trading in slaves is one thing...but capturing free men and selling them...'

'You make you money from the flesh, just the same.'

'It is not the same! The people I deal with have a choice in whether they pay for my services.'

'Yes, that's what you tell people. But we both know your insidious touch slowly kills our people while you smile in their faces.'

With everyone distracted by the argument, Teyla made her move, delivering a swift punch to the boy holding Rodney captive and reaching for the gun as he dropped it. Unfortunately, Ashnael was clearly familiar with guns, too, and fired a shot into the back of her hand, leaving her unable to grasp it as the servant retrieved it and pointed it her way.

'Oh God! Teyla!' Rodney gathered her up, but looked like he might actually pass out from the sight of her blood. She appreciated his efforts all the same.

'You still think I shouldn't kill her?' Ashnael charged, turning his livid gaze back to the physician. 'She is a danger to everyone on this planet.'

'Let me take her away. At least I will dispose of her humanely, not it the savage way you treat those in your charge.'

Now Ashnael squared up to the older man, pushing the muzzle of his weapon into his gut. 'I neither seek nor need the approval of someone like you for my lifestyle, Bathraen. Now put them out while I decide what to do with them.'

After a charged but silent standoff, Bathraen gave ground and reached into his kit, loading his syringe. Though she wanted to lash out at him, something in the way Bathraen looked at her told Teyla to trust him. She gave no resistance as he sank the needle into her arm, and then helped Rodney lower her gently to the floor as the encroaching darkness wound her in its embrace.

oooOOOooo

What do you plan to do with the men?' Bathraen asked as he watched two of Ashnael's servants carry Sheppard into the dining room and drop him on the floor next to the one called McKay. He had just dressed Teyla's damaged hand to prevent further blood loss on the homeowner's pristine floor and now stood again.

'Be careful!' Ashnael shouted, squatting beside the man and rolling his face to the side to ensure they hadn't scraped his face. 'My client is willing to pay well, and I don't want any excuses for her to barter me down.'

'Your client?' Bathraen echoed, waiting for him to expand.

'That's right. It's most fortunate this one turned up when he did.'

'And what about the others?'

'The pasty one is apparently a genius, and Curan Rabbrine has recently put out feelers for an assistant in his work. A genius should fetch a good price, don't you think?' Ashnael stood now and headed over to his polished metal dining table, popping one of the sweets lying there into his mouth and giving him a full-cheeked smile.

Wiping his hands clean, Bathraen kept his sense of horror in check. Rabbrine was a butcher, practicing his surgical techniques on sick and ailing slaves who no one else wanted any more. From what Bathraen had seen of his reaction to blood earlier, this particular specimen whether a genius or not, wouldn't do too well at the sadist's side.

'He'll be sending him back within the week,' Bathraen snorted. 'This one doesn't have the stomach for Rabbrine's barbarity.'

'Humph.' Ashnael stared down at McKay, rubbing his mouth again. 'I suppose you might have a point. He did turn rather ashen when that mutant started bleeding.'

'Rabbrine will bring him back and demand compensation for the waste of his time. You'll end up out of pocket and with an extra slave to feed.'

Bathraen knew that was the way to sway Ashnael's intentions. He thought only in terms of profit. If he might end up losing money on a deal, he would certainly not go through with it.

'Hmm. Well, he did mention a knowledge of engineering...the transport repair shop are always happy to take on new slaves, although I won't turn over the amount Rabbrine promised me.'

'Promised you and would take back the first instant this one fainted on him,' the physician pointed out.

Ashnael nodded, conceding the point. 'True...of course, being an outsider, there would be a lot of interest in him in certain quarters. Unfortunately, I don't have any takers for him right now...but someone will come along soon who is willing to pay well for his services.'

'It's not a fact you can freely advertise...it may be years before –'

'Yes, yes...I've had quite enough of your pessimism, Bathraen. Perhaps the repair shop will have to do.'

'You do have another option.'

'I do?' Ashnael looked at him keenly, the thought of money always capturing his interest.

'Well, I still need to be paid for my work here,' Bathraen pointed out.

After snorting out a laugh, Ashnael realised he was serious. 'He is worth far more than the work you have done for me tonight...besides, you're still paying in kind for my silence, remember.'

'Then I will pay for him myself.'

'You cannot afford him.'

Bathraen folded his arms over himself. Admittedly, he wasn't as wealthy as some of the more unscrupulous high-charging physicians in Traginta Duo, but he had tucked away enough to ensure he had money for whatever he needed. Not that it meant he could afford a supposed genius, of course. This would require some negotiation.

'You forget, part of my payment would be my silence about how you came by this latest batch of slaves. You might be able to redress and rename them, but I still know the truth. The government might turn a blind eye s to the kidnapping of outsiders, but only if they are then given over to them. Hiding the truth of their nature would earn you time in prison.'

'Yet it remains a far lesser crime than the one you committed,' Ashnael snapped back. Clearly unimpressed, the younger man twitched the weapon he still held, as if reminding Bathraen of who really held the power in that room. Then, to the physician's surprise, the trader suddenly agreed to his terms. 'You're fortunate that I am in a benevolent mood today, Curan Bathraen. Your silence cancels out mine for today, so give me ten thousand tallots and he's yours.'

Ten thousand would use up a sizable chunk of his savings, but he was willing to part with it to keep the man out of Rabbrine's clutches. He slapped his right hand onto Ashnael's left shoulder, the young man doing the same to him, and they both dipped their heads, sealing the deal.

'And why, may I ask, are you in this benevolent mood?' he pressed, knowing such shows of generosity were unheard of from his current companion.

Setting down the gun at last, Ashnael pushed up to sit in his extravagant table, reaching for yet more treats. 'Because I know I can secure a very fine price for the other one,' he said, nodding in Sheppard's direction. 'It will more than make up for my losses on the genius and mutant.'

'Really. What skills does he have that make him so valuable?'

'He's a pilot...and you know whose pilot met an unfortunate end recently,' he smirked, popping in a sweet and chewing on it.

Bathraen did indeed know. He looked down at Sheppard, and understood now why he would fetch such a rich fee. Intelligent, instinctive, handsome and strong...oh yes, he would be ideal for his new owner, though how much flying he would be required to do was debatable. That was a role no off-worlder should be thrown into, not after what had happened to Manstaen.

'You can't send another unsuspecting soul into that household!' he gasped, pitying the poor man. 'He will not survive a month in their hands.'

'Not my problem,' Ashnael smirked, wandering over to him and nudging him with the toe of his boot. 'I'll get paid well, and what they do with him after that is up to them. Although I suspect I have a good idea what he'll be used for...'

'Do you feel no conscience at all about the suffering these people endure?'

As if completely unable to fathom what Bathraen meant, Ashnael merely blinked back at him. 'Of course not. It's a business transaction...once they're off my hands it's not my concern.'

'If you had seen what I saw of their last pilot's end...You can't send him there...not there...there must be someone else –'

'Like you said, if I keep him here while I search for another owner, I'll have the expense of feeding him myself, and I already have an extra mouth to feed. Besides, you know no one can pay as well as they do.'

'An extra mouth to feed?'

Ashnael's face instantly split into a broad and vicious grin. 'Oh, did I not mention I'm keeping the one you operated on? At least for now. I can live off the proceeds from these two sales for a while, and in the meantime, someone else seeking an off-worlder might make contact. Until then, he looks ideal for my needs, don't you think?'

Bathraen closed his eyes and shook his head. If he had the money, he would buy all of these men and take them away from this madness, but he could only save one, and it seemed like the one called McKay was the one Ashnael would be most willing to part with at a price he could afford. 'Just make sure you give him time to heal,' he hissed, snatching up his medical kit. 'Now have those two taken to my craft.'

'And you make sure you get rid of that Wraith woman,' Ashnael called after him. 'I know how soft you are, but if you're found with her under your roof during one of the governments random scans, she'll not be the only one they terminate.'

Dezrin arrived then with rope, and proceeded to help his master roll Sheppard onto his front, hog-tying the man in a hopelessly uncomfortable position with his wrists and ankles bound to one another before moving on to McKay.

The physician left before they began to truss up Teyla, descending from Ashnael's rear doorway and into the now darkened grounds that lay behind it.

He opened up his craft and waited for his cargo to arrive, standing aside as first Dr McKay and then Teyla were carried out and deposited in the rear of the vessel. The darkness made a perfect cover for their machinations; very few ventured out after sunset in Traginta Duo.

'Remember, ten thousand tallots...and before the new moon, mind.'

The physician acknowledged his comment and closed the roof of his craft over, shielding himself and his consignment from prying eyes as he made his way down the quiet roads that had been so busy on his arrival. At least these two he carried with him would be safe from violence, but he couldn't get the other two men out of his mind. Ronon, in his present condition, was too weak to fulfil Ashnael's requirements, and if he did have the patience to wait long enough for him to recover, a life of pain and misery lay ahead for him.

And the pilot...Sheppard. He shuddered at the thought of what had happened to the last pilot in the Tranaedan household. The sight had given him nightmares almost every night since he'd seen the poor wretch breathe his last. No one deserved to die that way...not even someone as cruel as Ashnael.

But he could console himself with the thought that these two, at least, would be out of harm's way, though Ashnael was right, he couldn't keep the woman under his own roof. The Government would be unforgiving if they found her there, and he couldn't guarantee their scanners would miss the faint traces of Wraith DNA again. If the decontamination fumes had indeed somehow masked her genetics, he would not be as lucky when the government probes came calling.

No, there was somewhere he could send her...somewhere the scanners would never find her, and there she would be safe...at least until someone came looking for her.

And he dearly hoped someone would come for them all very soon.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

The steady and seemingly synchronised throbbing in both his head and his arm bullied Sheppard out of his slumbers and back to consciousness. After a few moments of feeling thoroughly sorry for himself, reality came crashing back in on him with all the force of a rogue wave. His eyes snapped open to the sight of an unfamiliar room, cold and bland, with only poor lighting, and the feel of a lumpy mattress beneath him, covered by a coarse woollen blanket with numerous loose threads and a pilled surface. _So, not Atlantis then._

Sitting up really didn't improve things, and it took all his will power not to puke on his own feet. The room tilted away from him, the floor undulating as if he was negotiating a fairground cakewalk when he tried to stand and making him fall back onto the bed on his first attempt. Whatever drug that little bastard Ashnael had given him was apparently potent stuff. He could barely _feel_ his body, let alone control it right now.

Undeterred, he pushed up onto his feet again, steadying himself against an upturned box that had been left at his bedside to perform the role of a nightstand. Unfortunately, the thing was nowhere near heavy enough to support him as he began to lean on it, tipping up and sending him, and the dull lamp and metal flagon of water that had been sitting on it, spilling to the floor. A pain stabbed through his injured forearm as he tried levering himself up, reminding him he shouldn't really be putting too much weight on it right now. The wound had been neatly dressed with a clean pressure pad, telling him Curan Bathraen had finished his work after helping their weasel of a host to knock him out. But this didn't feel like one of the rooms on the infirmary level of Ashnael's house. So where had he stuck him now? And what the hell was that smell?

He rolled onto his back, and it was with not a small amount of revulsion that Sheppard looked down at himself and realised his uniform was gone and had been replaced by a filthy set of poorly made, ill-fitting clothes. They looked grey, although he suspected they might not have originally been that colour, and stank of stale sweat...definitely not his own. And he didn't even want to think about what the various stains apparent on the cloth might be. To add to the look, they were threadbare at the knees and elbows, showing they'd had some considerable use before becoming hand-me-downs. In addition to the new outfit, anything marking him as different from the rest of this planet's population had gone; his watch, his wristband, his dog tags – all of them were missing. Someone was trying to make him look like something he wasn't. But why?

'Aw...this is so gross,' he croaked, plucking the stench-riddled shirt away from his skin, then letting it fall back in place. He felt like he needed a hot shower and strong coffee, strike that and make it a beer, but he had the distinct impression neither was likely to be on offer. So much for their amiable host.

As he lay there, waiting for the worst of the dizziness and nausea to pass, he pondered his stupidity once again. How could he have even considered trusting Ashnael? He'd had a bad feeling about him from the start, and he was rarely wrong about these things. And then he'd allowed himself to be separated from the others, which had been even dumber, and he'd known that even as he'd travelled in that elevator with the little creep. Yet, despite the fact it had gone against all his expertise in self-preservation, he'd willingly done it. And why...for Ronon? Yes...but not just that. At some level, that voice was still speaking to him, telling him he'd done the right thing even now. Yeah, because he was trapped in a tiny, stinking room and his friends were God only knew where. Nothing wrong with that picture, right?

In the back of his mind something told him to stay calm, told him that everything would work out for the best. That was his training...wasn't it? He wasn't sure any more. Somewhere deep within himself he could still feel the stifling oppression that had gripped him outside that walled shantytown. And it was calling to him, he could feel its draw even now...

'Focus, John!' he told himself, rubbing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. 'Gotta get moving.'

Standing still wasn't an option just yet, so he rolled over and crawled his way to the door, pulling himself up with the handle and at the same time finding it locked. Not that he was surprised. He rattled it in the frame, testing its sturdiness and finding it more impressive than his own right at that moment. It wasn't going to open while he was so damned shaky on his feet. So he resorted to Plan B...not that it was much of a plan, more an instinctive reaction to being drugged and locked up.

'Ashnael, you open this damned door right now!' he yelled, pounding on the hard metal surface until his hand felt like it might split open. 'Ashnael! ASHNAEL!'

No one came. Sheppard leaned heavily on the door and waited for his brain to stop reverberating from the volume of his own voice. Ashnael might think he could just ignore him until he was ready to do...whatever it was he planned to do, but he wasn't going to sit quietly by and wait until his time was up. He meant to make his displeasure known...just as soon as he could stand up straight.

Taking a deep breath, he started yelling and pounding again, wishing it didn't hurt his head and his arm so much, but determined to make himself as much of a pain in the ass as was humanly possible within his current constraints.

This time, after a few moments of shouting himself hoarse, he heard someone outside the door. He pushed back, still unsteady but feeling a little more balanced, and got ready to pounce on Ashnael as soon as he opened the door...which he did...except the young woman he actually grabbed by the throat and slammed into the wall on the opposite side of the corridor wasn't who he'd been expecting her to be.

When he realised just how terrified the poor girl was, he let her go, allowing her to choke in a few breath's before asking, 'Where's Ashnael? I wanna speak to him right now.'

Rubbing the red handprint he'd left on her throat, she gave him a timid flicker of a smile. 'Please...it really would be better if you were quiet.'

'Better for who? Ashnael?' he challenged. ''Cos I really don't give a damn if I'm inconveniencing him.'

'Better for you,' she clarified, straightening her ruffled clothes and smoothing down her tied-back, mousey hair. 'Behaviour such as yours, even for someone new to the house, will not be tolerated.'

'Great, maybe I'll get THROWN OUT!' Sheppard yelled, happy to spoil for that particular fight.

'Shhh!' The pretty, plainly dressed girl before him looked shaken that he had dared to do that again. 'Please...don't! You'll be punished...as will I for not keeping you quiet.'

That did the trick of calming him down. Willing as he was to face the music himself, he didn't want to get her in trouble, too. 'Sorry. Look, just take me to Ashnael and I can get all this sorted out.'

'Ashnael? You mean Mercator Ashnael?' The girl looked genuinely puzzled by his request.

Sheppard rolled his eyes impatiently, raking a hand back through his hair. 'Yeah, Ashnael – blond hair, blue eyes, face you just wanna punch. I need to see him now.'

'He's not here,' she said, keeping her eye on him and twitching each time he swayed as if she thought he might grab her again.

Sheppard shrugged. 'Suits me. When he gets back, tell him I had to go.'

Again, she looked completely bewildered. 'Why would Mercator Ashnael come back here?'

He'd been about to storm away, somewhat shakily, and find his way out of there – preferably with the rest of his team in tow – but her comment stopped him dead. 'Because this is his house...isn't it?'

The girl shook her head, looking like she expected him to throw her against the wall again at any moment.

'It's not? Then where the hell am I?'

'This is the Tranaedan household. Mercator Ashnael brought you here earlier, but left quite a while ago while you still slept.'

'Okay, fine. Then I want to see your boss,' he told her, planting his hands on his hips.

'Magister Tranaedan is indisposed this evening, but Magistra Tranaedan said I should take you to her as soon as you awoke. She is keen to discuss your duties with you.'

'My wha – ?' Suddenly, all the puzzle pieces fell into place. Taking them in had been an act of kindness to mask Ashnael's true intentions. He meant to sell them off into service, and the change of clothes was presumably to make him look like he was...slave-class, for want of a better word. 'Oh, no. I'm not gonna serve anyone. I think you better take me to see this "Magistra whatever-her-name-is" so we can get this all straightened out.'

Aghast, the young girl hesitated, then nodded and began to lead the way. 'We'll take the elevator. You do not seem ready for the stairs yet, and the Magistra said I could take you that way if I had any concerns.'

'No complaints from me,' he said shuffling along behind her, steadying himself against the walls when he needed to.

They travelled down what he counted to be four floors. Smart. So, no jumping out of windows when the servants went to bed at night. Of course, he was a pretty good climber, so being up that high wouldn't be a problem for him if he could get out.

When the elevator doors slid back, they opened onto a very different house, giving the girl's story the validity he had at first doubted. Here, the decor was far gaudier, and the thick carpet, a disturbing shade of blood-red, didn't make walking any easier considering how weak his legs still felt.

After wobbling his way past several doors, the girl came to a stop and told him to wait, pressing her ear to a set of double doors and rapping lightly. After apparently hearing something positive in response, she opened the door and slipped inside.

Sheppard listened, but the voices were too muffled behind the partially closed doors. She was definitely speaking to a woman, though, so it looked like he was about to meet Magistra Tranaedan. Hopefully she would understand...or maybe he should just get out of there now.

That brief moment of possibility was lost as the two doors in front of him pulled open, and the girl, whose name he now realised he hadn't even bothered to ask, gestured for him to step inside.

He did so, and was immediately engulfed by a heady scent of perfume. To his left was a gold framed chaise longue, much like the one in Ashnael's reception room, but on a larger and more tasteless scale. Elsewhere, items of clothing lay strewn around the floor, and the serving girl now gathered them up as she showed him the way through an impressive stone archway and on into the room beyond. There, a vast bed, draped in silk sheets of cream and scarlet and shrouded in decorative hangings dominated the room, along with floor to ceiling polished and moulded doors in a silver metal that filled the wall to his left. Wardrobes, he figured. He'd known a number of wealthy women, friends of his family, who had whole rooms dedicated to their clothes. This, though gaudy, was nothing in comparison.

Ahead, another smaller archway covered by ivory voiles led through to a chamber beyond, but his young companion signalled he should wait right where he was. The smell of perfume was stronger here, and his nausea returned with a vengeance as the clear air he needed was swallowed up by the choking aroma. He concentrated on not being sick on the expensive scarlet carpet as the voiles drew back and a woman swept in, swathed in a satin dressing gown, her chestnut brown hair pinned up as if she had just stepped out of a bath. In fact, as he noticed tendrils of damp hair hanging around her exposed shoulders, he realised she probably had.

She walked straight up to him, her perfume completely stealing his breath at such close proximity. Magistra Tranaedan looked older close up than he'd first assumed, her skin lightly lined around her eyes and the corners of her mouth. She had to be mid forties, if not a little older. The woman eyed him head to toe with her large, blue eyes, then took a step back and nodded. 'Yes. Very good. And now you're awake, we can discuss your duties.'

She swept away again in a great swirl of satin and cologne, seating herself demurely at a dressing table beyond the bed. There, she dabbed on yet more perfume while admiring her reflection, and Sheppard choked back a cough as best he could.

'I...' he started, almost choking then clearing his throat again before continuing. 'I think there's been some kind of mistake.'

She looked at him via her mirror as she lathered a layer of gloss onto her lips. 'A mistake. What do you mean?' she asked, continuing to preen.

'I'm not a servant...slave...whatever you want to call it.'

She turned his way now, swivelling on her sumptuously upholstered seat. 'Is this some kind of joke? I do have a sense of humour, but this is a little –'

'No joke,' Sheppard assured her. 'Ashnael had no right to sell me to you. I wasn't his to begin with.'

Magistra Tranaedan's eyebrows lifted a degree at that charge. 'That is a very serious accusation. I hope you realise that, young man.'

'Yeah, I realise,' he said, planting his hands on his hips as he stared back at her. He'd guessed she was a few years older than him by her appearance, but that didn't give her the right to patronise him that way. 'And I'm not the only one he kidnapped. I had three friends with me, two men and a woman. We're travellers from another world...traders...he took advantage of our trust when we needed help and trapped us in his home. The last thing I knew I was being stitched up in his treatment room...then I woke up here.'

'I see,' she said slowly, as if choosing her words carefully. Magistra Tranaedan set her lip balm down and folded her hands in her lap, gazing at him as she considered his words. Then, she said, 'Lanae, would you leave us for a moment, please?'

The young girl dipped her head respectfully. 'Yes, Magistra Tranaedan,' but Sheppard couldn't help noticing the worried way her eyes darted to him before she backed out of the room.

He got the feeling the other shoe was about to drop...

'Now, let me get this straight in my mind. You travelled to this planet, suffered some misfortune, and Mercator Ashnael offered you his assistance?'

'Under false pretences,' Sheppard added.

'Oh yes, under false pretences,' Magistra Tranaedan repeated. She stood and approached him again. 'You say you and these friends of yours are traders?'

'Well, trading is one of the things we do, yeah. We're explorers, mostly.'

The woman reached out and pulled at the fabric of his shirt, her lip curling with disgust. 'An interesting choice of attire for such an excursion,' she quipped, letting go of it and heading back to her dressing table to pick up something to wipe her fingers clean.

'Well, I wasn't dressed like this before Ashnael knocked me out,' Sheppard clarified as she walked back toward him. 'I was wearing my uniform.'

He wasn't sure he liked the way her eyes lit up at those words, or the way she checked him out again.

'A uniform. Really? And what did that look like.'

Folding his arms, he glared back at her. 'Not as exciting as you'd imagine.' He'd met uniform chasers before...had his fill of them in his younger days. One mention of a uniform and all other details of your life were instantly forgotten. 'If we could get back to the kidnapping aspect of my story...'

'Of course, continue, Jadrael,' she told him, tilting her head in what looked like attentive amusement.

'Like I was...Wait...what did you call me?' he asked, her words finally registering.

'Jadrael...it is your name, after all.'

'Er, no...no, it isn't.'

She returned to her dressing table and opening a drawer to pull out a small bundle of papers. 'Well, the documentation Mercator Ashnael handed to me when I took receipt of you earlier states otherwise. Your name is Jadrael, tentatively aged as thirty-five to thirty-eight, previously in the service of the Hadresine household of Octôgintâ Novem.'

'He faked my paperwork? That lousy little bastard!'

'ENOUGH!'

The merriment had gone from her face now, replaced by utter outrage. She snatched up something from her dressing table and strode up to him, pushing her face into his as she vented her spleen. 'I will admit that your story is a clever one, Jadrael, but it stops now. Your refusal to use Mercator Ashnael's correct title is bad enough, but this...coarseness will absolutely not be tolerated!'

'I'm not making this up!' he insisted, standing his ground. 'My name is Lt Colonel John Sheppard, and I was not Ashnael's to sell. Those papers are fake.'

'This is no way to begin your service with us, Jadrael. I am appalled by your lack of respect,' she growled, extending the telescopic metal rod she carried, and wielding it as if she were about to strike him.

Well, it was going to take more than that to shut him up. 'Respect? You can't demand respect, you earn it!'

The shock came out of the blue, surprising him. He'd though she was about to hit him, but the contact was nothing more than a prod...a prod that was now sending a devastating current through his entire body. His muscles contracted, screwing him up until eventually he collapsed on the floor and she withdrew her weapon.

'Enough!' she said again, pushing a loosened tendril of hair behind her ear as she tried to compose herself. 'You are just a servant. No one will believe your story above the word of Mercator Ashnael, so this is the last time you will speak of it.'

Chest heaving as he tried to both regain his breath and control his anger, Sheppard glowered up at her, reading all he needed to know in her face. 'You know I'm not from this world. My name is Lt Colonel John Sheppard, United States Air Force...I am not some reject slave from another screwed up household.'

She smirked at him now, her eyes wandering up and down him again and making his skin crawl. 'Well, of course you're not a reject, Jadrael. Your paperwork states that the householders who previously owned you suffered an unfortunate fatal accident and their slaves were sold off by their estate.'

'And you believed that?' he demanded barely daring to move when even that much effort made his muscles protest.

She laughed, a pretty though mocking sound. 'Oh, you'd be surprised how many "unfortunate accidents" befall the households of the Centum Civis.'

'Centum Civis?' Though Sheppard's knowledge of Latin was sporadic at best, he had learned numbers and remembered a few other words from way back in his school days. Centum meant one hundred, and civis...it was pretty close to civitas, which meant, to the best of his knowledge, city. The Hundred Cities...oh, crap! If there were really one hundred cities here, they could remain lost on this planet for far longer than he'd thought.

'Now, Jadrael. If this momentary madness is over, I will run through your duties as planned,' the woman told him, folding her weapon in on itself again.

Realising he was getting nowhere, and too uncomfortable to risk inciting her wrath again, he decided to hold his tongue for now and listen to what she had to say.

'Mercator Ashnael states you are a pilot, and I am in need of a man such as you to transport me to various locations when my husband is busy with his work. That should suit your skills, should it not?'

Deciding that didn't sound so bad, he nodded to show he agreed.

'In addition, you will be in charge of cleaning and maintaining all our craft, including those in my husband's collection.'

'How many are we talking?' he asked before realising this wasn't exactly a job interview and he probably wasn't supposed to question her.

'Twelve in total, but my husband is always on the lookout for more to add to his collection.' Her pinched expression told him she was losing patience now, so he didn't speak again. 'Also, you will be expected to be on call to provide your services any time of the day or night...my husband and I never know when we may need to take a journey. Refusal and excuses will not be endured.'

Again, he held his tongue, giving no challenge. So far, it didn't sound like anything he couldn't handle. He might just be able to sit this out until rescue came if it meant not getting toasted again.

'Oh, and Jadrael, you realise I'm sure that your behaviour here this evening was unacceptable.' Unexpectedly, she slammed her hand into his shirtfront, pulling him up onto his knees. 'This is the last time you will question my authority over you...because if you mention this "kidnapping" again, you'll wish you'd never set foot in Traginta Duo.'

She pushed him back, setting him off balance in a way he almost couldn't rectify. Okay, so maybe this wasn't going to be a straightforward as he'd imagined.

'Lanae!'

The young serving girl rushed back in at the sound of her name and waited for her instructions.

'Take Jadrael down to the transport store. I need him to clean my craft before we head into the market place tomorrow. You know which one...the usual,' Magistra Tranaedan said with a dismissive wave, before heading over to her dressing table to clean her hands again. 'And be sure to leave what he needs to get clean in his room ready for when he's finished. We have some of Manstaen's clothes left; I'm sure they'll do until I get him fitted out with new ones. Green for tomorrow, I think. It will compliment his complexion and his eyes. Then, I need you back here, Lanae. I wish to retire to bed. Now go...both of you.'

She turned her back on them and Lanae caught hold of Sheppard's arm, helping him to his feet and pulling him out of the room before he could get himself into any more trouble.

When they reached the elevator and the doors closed behind them, Sheppard dared to speak again. 'Well, she's certainly charming,' he muttered, watching for Lanae's reaction.

The young woman declined to meet his gaze. 'Magistra Tranaedan is a benevolent mistress,' she said, her voice completely flat.

'I'll bet,' he huffed, but clearly the girl wasn't about to be drawn into his cynicism.

'Magistra Tranaedan is good to us if we carry out our duties well.'

'You know,' Sheppard mused, giving her a sideways look, 'you say that so well I almost believe you. How long have you worked here?'

'I was purchased when I was eight years old,' she said, matter-of fact, toying with one of the two silver coloured bracelets she wore.

'Eight years?' He hoped their years were a lot longer than Earth years, but something told him they probably didn't. 'So, a long time, huh?'

'Yes. Many years now.' A sad wistfulness crossed her face, but she composed herself as they travelled down six more storeys to where he was expected to work.

'So what happens if you don't perform your duties well?' he asked, figuring it would be wise to be prepared for the worst.

Lanae looked his way now, giving him the proverbial once over. 'You have no need to worry. I am sure Magistra Tranaedan will be pleased with your services.'

The skin on the back of his neck prickled. 'We are talking about me being a pilot here, right?'

Her eyes met his, but only briefly. 'Yes...of course.'

'Good.'

Silence.

Sheppard really didn't like silence...especially when in unfamiliar and dubious territory, so he tried to keep the conversation going. 'What happened to the last pilot? Did they get rid of him because he didn't please Magistra Tranaedan?'

That question didn't exactly meet with the reaction he expected. He'd thought she would feed him another one of her pre-prepared lines about how gracious their owners were, but instead the colour completely drained from her face.

'Manstaen...Manstaen met with an unfortunate accident.'

Sheppard continued to watch her, seeing her struggle to keep her emotions in check. 'Yeah...I hear that happens a lot around Traginta Duo.'

'Life is...uncertain,' she conceded, her voice quavering as they arrived at a large metallic door at the end of the corridor. She pulled a key card from her pocket and it opened, exposing the hangar beyond.

Then, she turned and looked directly at him, a strange glazed expression clouding her eyes. 'The sensory wishes to speak with you.'

That odd feeling crept up on him again, those voices calling at the back of his mind. He frowned. 'The who?'

Lanae blinked a couple of times, then focused on him. 'I'm sorry...what?'

Thinking it a little strange she hadn't heard him, he prompted her. 'You said, "The sensory wishes to speak to you".'

Now she frowned, shaking her head. 'No I didn't. No one but Magister Tranaedan is permitted to speak with the sensory, so I would never say such a thing.'

'Okaaay,' Sheppard drawled, wondering which of the two of them was losing their mind. 'Why don't you show me this transporter I need to clean?'

'Yes...I will.'

For a moment, all thoughts of their conversation were forgotten when he stepped through the door and drank in the view. There, right in front of him, were a dozen amazing looking craft, the likes of which he'd never seen before. He felt like he'd stepped straight into the docking bay at Mos Eisley spaceport...except for the obvious absence of Storm Troopers.

'Whoa! Would you look at these things...They're...they're...I mean...wow!' He walked up to the first, this planet's equivalent of a Koenigsegg CCXR – black and sleek and trimmed in shocking red. He hoped it was as fast as it looked.

'Manstaen loved that one, too,' Lanae said, her voice very small behind him now.

'I'll bet,' he breathed, walking around the craft and marvelling at its glossy exterior. It looked like someone had taken a great deal of care to polish it and keep it in top condition. It seemed doubtful Manstaen had failed in his duties if the ships looked this good. 'So...this "unfortunate accident" he met with. You know what happened?'

She shook her head. 'We do not speak of such things.'

'C'mon, Lanae. A little help for the new guy, here!'

Her lip quivered, and then suddenly the floodgates opened. She tried to stifle her sobs with her trembling hand, but within moments she was crying her heart out. Sheppard watched her, feeling useless and more than a little awkward. Since this was his fault, he figured he'd better offer her some support.

Edging closer, he put his arms around her and patted her gently on the back. 'I'm sorry...I didn't mean to upset you.'

She pushed back sharply, wrapping her arms around herself. 'Don't!'

'I...I wasn't trying anything!' he assured her, holding his hands up away from her. 'I just wanted to help.'

'You cannot do that...we are not permitted to touch in that way.'

He nodded, backing off another couple of steps.' Okay...I get that...just try to take some deep breaths or something. That might help.'

She did as he advised, and the tears slowed, reducing enough for her to be able to speak. 'I'm sorry...it's just that Manstaen and I were...friends.'

'Friends, huh?' He lowered his head a little and waited for her to meet his eyes.

'We were...very close,' she admitted. 'Several sunrises ago, Magistra Tranaedan came across us in here holding hands and talking. She was enraged. No man in this household should value any female higher than Magistra Tranaedan.'

'And so, she caused an accident?'

Lanae shrugged, scrubbing tears from her cheeks as she brought her emotions under control. 'Manstaen told me she began to make advances...as if trying to shift his attentions from me to her.' She swallowed hard, dropping her eyes to the floor. 'I believe she deliberately lured him into her room where her Magister Tranaedan caught them...'

Sheppard's brain pretty quickly filled in the gaps of what the woman's husband had caught them up to. It was a nasty trick to pull on a guy just for falling in love.

'After that...he disappeared. We were told he'd had an accident while fixing one of these craft...that he was trapped beneath one somehow... no one saw anything and I wasn't even allowed to attend his burial. As slaves we have no right to be there.'

Her eyes filled with tears again, but she held back the sobs, for which Sheppard was grateful. He hated seeing people cry – he never knew what to do for the best to help them.

'Well, when I get out of here, I'm gonna do something about all this,' he assured her, the only thing he could think of to say.

But rather than bring comfort, his words seemed to terrify her. She grabbed his arm, her fingers digging into his flesh. 'You must never talk like that. Escape isn't possible. If they even hear you –'

'I might meet with an "unfortunate accident"? Okay, I get it,' he sighed. 'In that case, I better get down to work. Which one of these am I supposed to clean?'

'Yes...indeed.' Lanae seemed to instantly brighten at the mention of something to distract her from her loss. 'It's this one.'

Sheppard really shouldn't have been surprised, but his heart did sink just a little when she pointed to the largest craft in the hangar. 'Everything you need to clean it is in the room at the end of the store – just through that archway.'

He followed the direction she pointed in, nodding his understanding.

'Now, I must attend Magistra Tranaedan. When I have finished, I'll return with some refreshments for you. You must finish this before sleeping tonight. Magistra Tranaedan always leaves for market early, and she will expect to see her magnificence reflected in this craft's surface.'

Sheppard snorted a laugh into his chest, hands on hips as he looked at the sheer proportions of the transporter in front of him. So, he couldn't sleep until it was done, huh? He supposed that meant he was pulling an all-nighter, then. 'You know, no matter how much I polish this thing, I just don't think it's big enough to reflect the size of her ego.'

A slight smile twitched at the corners of Lanae's mouth, but he could see she didn't dare let it fully form. 'I'll leave you to it, Jadrael,' she said, heading out of the hangar to leave him to his duties.

'The name's John,' he called after her, irritated by the use of his faked name.

Looking back over her shoulder, she said sadly, 'Not any more.'

And then he was alone with twelve fast, shiny ships, a closed hangar, and absolutely no clue how to manoeuvre one of them out of there to go look for his missing friends. Sometimes irony really sucked.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Rodney woke from a peaceful dream of bobbing on a vast, smooth ocean in an expensive yacht, which had unfortunately ended, as his dreams often did, with him being swallowed whole by an enormous whale. He cursed his father's love of Moby Dick yet again and allowed his eyes to flutter open, wondering just where he was. It looked comfortable, but it wasn't Atlantis.

It took a few moments before his memory gave him a nudge and he recalled the huge needle Bathraen had shoved into his arm. That was going to leave a doozy of a bruise...and then he remembered something else. Where was Teyla?

Seized by a sudden fit of panic, he looked around the room for any sign that she had at least been there... but there was none. Ashnael had shot her in the hand...she needed medical help and he had no idea where she was!

Feeling light headed, he held onto his skull with both hands to try to steady things, but the room continued to perform a demented samba around him despite his best efforts. He rolled onto his side and struggled up into a sitting position, regretting it the moment he was vaguely vertical.

'Oh, God. I'm dying!' he whimpered as his brain tried to catch up with him. This felt so weird...as if it had become detached somehow and was floating just behind him in a balloon. Nothing felt quite real.

Except this was real. He was trapped on a previously uncharted planet in a strange house with no Sheppard, Teyla or Ronon to be seen. This was bad, very bad. He'd known it was a mistake not to head back to the 'gate...well...okay, maybe he hadn't known, but he'd definitely had a bad feeling about it. And now he sounded like a movie cliché.

He pushed up and staggered toward the door, pressing his ear against it to find out what he could hear. Nothing. Zip...zero...nadda. It was quiet enough to hear that much talked about pin dropping. Quiet could be good...couldn't it? No big, bad psychopathic Samaritans lurking outside ready to pounce. Or it could be a bad thing. Maybe he'd been locked in there to be left alone until he starved to death. He was already feeling hungry. Oh, God! He couldn't cope with this, alone in this box of a room with no windows, no sound and no food.

Panic levels soaring, he started pounding on the door. 'Sheppard! Sheppard! Teyla! Ronon! Anyone!'

No one came.

'Oh, come on! Someone must be able to hear me!' he yelled, grabbing the handle and rattling it.

The door swung open.

'Okay,' he whispered, staring at it in disbelief. 'That was unexpected.'

Wondering if he was perhaps still dreaming, he edged out into the corridor outside the doorway, clinging closely to the wall both for stealth and physical support. He slid himself along the modest but comfortable looking passageway with his heart thumping so hard it threatened to burst right out of his chest, until he reached another corridor. This one crossed straight across the one he was one, giving him the option of three directions.

'What would Sheppard do?' he muttered to himself, peering in all directions. There was nothing obvious to sway his decision. It seemed it was utterly up to chance. 'Oh, right, he'd pick the wrong direction and land us all in a whole heap of trouble!' No, he didn't mean that, he was just hungry and scared and had the headache to end all headaches. Those factors always made him mean.

He chose his direction, and headed down it, startled when a door to his right suddenly drew back and Curan Bathraen stepped out. He pressed himself hard against the wall behind him as if that was going to help somehow.

'Ahhh, Dr McKay. I thought I heard you shouting. Follow me and I'll get you something for that headache.'

Eyes bulging, Rodney watched him step back into the elevator he'd just exited, thinking this really had to be a drug-induced dream. Nothing ever went this well for him.

'Are you coming, Dr McKay?'

Bathraen stared at him, his face devoid of any malice. Rodney figured he might as well go along with him and see what happened. It wasn't as if he had a whole lot of other options to choose from.

He stepped inside the metal box and tried not to add claustrophobia to his already mounting anxiety as the doors closed on them. 'Where are the others?' he asked as they began to travel down.

Bathraen cast him what he could only describe as an embarrassed glance, then looked straight ahead again, staring into dead space. 'They're not here.'

'That wasn't what I asked,' he pointed out.

Licking his lips, the physician now turned and gave him a slight smile. 'Let's get you checked over and treated first. Then I'll answer any questions you have.'

Thinking that sounded scarily ominous, Rodney considered demanding an answer there and then, but since the man appeared to be treating him well, he decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. This was all turning out way better than he'd expected it to when he'd fallen unconscious, and he really didn't feel like pushing his luck too hard.

When they exited the elevator, McKay followed Bathraen into a room filled with all kinds of weird looking equipment, some he thought looked purely scientific, some more medical. The physician gestured for him to take a seat, one that looked far more comfortable than the one he was used to in the labs on Atlantis, and then went about gathering together the equipment and medicines he thought necessary.

Setting them down beside McKay, he began a check of his vitals. It wasn't done quite how the check-ups on Atlantis were carried out, but it didn't hurt, so McKay let him work without question. Eventually, Bathraen tipped two capsules of medicine into his hand and passed them to McKay along with a glass of water.

'You appear to be fully fit, Dr McKay. Now take these and we'll soon chase away that headache.'

'H...how do you know I have a headache anyway?' McKay stammered, realising he hadn't mentioned it at any point.

'No mystery. It's just that the sedative gives everyone a headache,' Bathraen told him. 'Now here. Take these.'

Rodney peered at the tablets in the man's palm, uncertain whether he trusted him enough to take them. Once again, he wondered what Sheppard would do, supposing he would play safe and refuse them. But he wasn't John Sheppard, and his own pain threshold was set markedly lower.

'They're not dangerous, Dr McKay. I mean you no harm.'

'Well, excuse me for doubting you, but how am I supposed to know you're not about to knock me out and subject me to some kind of hideous experiment...and if you weren't about to, please don't use that as an idea!'

Bathraen laughed, putting the glass down and forcing the tablets into his hand. 'If I had let you fall into the hands of Curan Rabbrine that might have been a possibility, but you're perfectly safe here. I have no intention of harming you.'

'Oh...oh...good.' McKay rolled the capsules around his palm with his thumb before deciding his headache was bad enough to take the risk. He threw them to the back of his mouth and washed them down with the water. They wedged in his throat. Great, now he'd have acid reflux to contend with, too. He slugged back some more liquid and thankfully freed them up. 'So, maybe you can tell me where Sheppard, Ronon and Teyla are now?'

The doctor made himself busy so he didn't have to look Rodney in the eye as he replied. 'I fear I didn't have enough funds to purchase your male friends. I had to make a choice, and...when it came down to it, you were the only one Ashnael was willing to sell to me.'

'What? So I'm like...a reject?' McKay demanded, realising how ridiculous it was to be offended by the fact Ashnael had sold him, but unable to stop his indignation from voicing itself. 'What do they have that I don't?'

'Do not distress yourself, Dr McKay. The smaller man, Sheppard, is a pilot, yes?'

'That's right.'

'Ashnael has a customer who recently...lost their pilot. He will be sold into that household.'

'Sold? As in like a slave?'

'Yes.'

'A slave who gets to fly ships?'

'That is what Magistra Tranaedan has requested.'

The answer was a little vague, but it sounded like a yes. 'Well...that doesn't sound so bad.'

'No...it doesn't, does it?' Bathraen continued to pack away his equipment, not meeting McKay's gaze.

'And what about Ronon? Is he going to be okay?' he pressed.

This time, Bathraen couldn't suppress a sigh. 'He was well, when I left him.'

'And again, that doesn't answer my question,' McKay snapped.

Looking ashamed, the physician finally stopped fussing and looked directly at him. 'Ashnael keeps a certain number of slaves for himself. He gains satisfaction from beating them...beating them hard. It makes him feel stronger, I suppose. I believe he kept Ronon because he thought he could take that punishment for longer without him needing to stop. I advised him he needed to give your friend time to recover first, but I don't know if he'll be that patient.'

McKay suddenly felt queasy at the thought of the Satedan, already weak, being thrashed to give that runt his kicks. 'What! How could you leave him there like that?'

'I had no choice, Dr McKay. I used almost all of my funds buying you. You are off-worlders. I assume someone will eventually come looking for you. I'm hopeful Ashnael holds off on him until you're rescued.'

Rodney nodded, a horrible thought suddenly striking him. 'Wait a minute. You haven't mentioned Teyla. What happened to her? Is she dead!'

Again, the physician insisted that he relax before he would continue. 'Teyla is the safest of you all. Because of her Wraith DNA, she is of no value to Mercator Ashnael nor anyone else in the Centum Civis. He asked me to dispose of her, so I put her in one of the few places on this planet where she cannot be detected as a Wraith. She should be well enough there until your rescuers come.'

'Where'd you send her? Can I see her?'

Bathraen vehemently shook his head. 'She is in an enclosure with a Forbidden Zone. We are not permitted to go there. But she will be well taken care of, I assure you. Aside from you, she is safer than any of your other companions.'

'Ronon at least,' Rodney sighed, wiping a hand over his face to clear the last remnants of blurriness from his vision.

'Now, if you have finished with these questions, why don't I get you something to eat? You must be hungry by now,' Bathraen offered, changing the subject.

With his headache just beginning to ease now, Rodney felt the unsettled rumblings of his stomach making themselves known. 'Well, yes, I am feeling a little peckish.'

'I thought as much. That's another effect of the sedatives. Come with me, I'll take you to the kitchen and we'll see what we can find.'

Standing a little shakily, Rodney plodded heavy-legged behind the physician who had taken him under his wing. He felt groggy and couldn't put his thoughts on their situation together in any sensible order yet, but a good meal, a hot drink and a sound sleep would hopefully soon have that rectified.

All in all, Ronon's situation aside, things didn't sound so bad considering their earlier traumas. Atlantis would know they were missing by now, and would no doubt have teams out searching for them.

If this was as bad as it got, he could put up with being a "slave" for a few hours, and he figured the others could manage the same.

oooOOOooo

Teyla's sense of smell was the first thing to return...unfortunately. The odour surrounding her was both powerful and dreadful, a mixture of filth and decay the likes of which she'd never before smelled.

Eyes snapping open, she found herself surrounded by faces, some young, some older, all of them staring down on her with unnatural red irises in the failing light. She started, scrambling away from them, and they all jumped back, apparently equally as startled as she was.

So she wasn't dead, despite Ashnael's threats. That was some comfort, and more than a little surprising. But this place, with its muddy ground and tumbledown wooden shacks was about as far from the finery of that trickster's house as she ever wished to get. A huge blue-hazed moon illuminated the scene around her, but even this relative darkness did little to hide the poverty of the place she now found herself in. The small crowd gathered around her whispered to each other, eyeing her warily. It seemed they might actually be afraid of her.

After assessing the situation for a few seconds and deciding they weren't about to attack, Teyla decided to speak to them.

'Where am I? How did I get here?'

'This is a Forbidden Zone. You came through the supplies tunnel...we have no idea how it happened,' an older woman replied, standing firm with the rest of the group.

Sensing no danger, Teyla got to her feet and looked around, soon realising, when she saw the great shadow lurking beyond all the buildings, that she was now within the high-walled, run-down compound they had passed over in the jumper, the one outside which Sheppard had fallen momentarily unconscious. So this was what lay beyond that vast construction – a strange race of red-eyed people living in abject squalor. How could this be allowed when others enjoyed such obvious wealth on this world?

Spotting the relatively clean bandages on her right hand, she flexed it, finding it still painful beneath the dressing. She hadn't imagined that, then – Ashnael really had shot her. But it looked like someone had treated her injury...treated it and then thrown her out of their grand city like a piece of garbage? That made no sense...none of this did. The haze from the lingering drugs in her system left her wondering what was real and what wasn't...perhaps even these odd-looking natives were a figment of her confused brain. 'My friends...have you seen them? Are there other strangers like me here?' she asked them.

They collectively shook their heads. 'There were others with you?' The same older woman who had spoken up before asked.

'Yes...three men, two dressed like me, the other very tall with unusual hair. You would know who I speak of if you had seen him.'

They all looked at each other, again shaking their heads.

'Did you come here in the ship we saw fall from the sky?' the woman asked.

Teyla nodded emphatically, employing her most engaging smile to encourage them to keep talking to her. 'Yes...that is right. We came here through the Ring of the Ancestors –'

'One of the men with you flew it?' the woman interrupted.

Though she felt her smile falter a little at the question, Teyla kept it up as best she could. 'Yes, my friend and colleague, Colonel Sheppard, flew us here.'

A ripple of whispered comments passed through the group, along with a tangible air of excitement...perhaps even anticipation.

'Then he truly is come!' the woman cried, dropping to her knees and raising her face skyward. 'He is come at last.'

Teyla watched in shock as others now emerged from the shambolic buildings, each of them repeating the statement the woman had sounded out in the brooding darkness. Her throat drying, she kept her fear in check as best she could as she listened to the reverence in their tone. Whoever these people were, they had clearly been expecting them...or at least one of them.

Here, alone in a village that was little more than a Shantytown, she couldn't help but fear what this might mean for John. Judging by the shocking reaction he'd had to this place earlier, she had the feeling it would lead to trouble they could all do without.

oooOOOooo

The sensation of firm and insistent nudging at his shoulder woke Sheppard from his all too brief sleep.

'What are you still doing here?' an unfamiliar voice hissed. 'You must get to your room and get washed and dressed. Quickly.'

Opening his eyes to a strange woman's worried face left Sheppard even more confused for a few moments...until he recalled where he was now.

'Come on...quickly! Get up! You need to get up to your room and get washed and dressed immediately. Magistra Tranaedan is almost ready to leave and will be waiting for you to collect her.'

Sheppard slid out of the passenger seat of the craft where he had fallen asleep after spending hours polishing the transporter to a high shine...after having checked for any possible exits first. He'd even found the stairs and crept up to the ground floor, trying every door and window he dared to get free of the place, but every one of them had been locked. Eventually, figuring his chances of finding one window accidentally left open were slim, he'd realised the only option he had left was to do his job, at least for one night. That way, he might stay out of trouble and have the opportunity to try again another night. Either that or a rescue team would hopefully pluck him out of there.

'We'll take the elevator and hope Magistra Tranaedan doesn't hear us. Come on, Jadrael. Hurry!'

'The name's John!' he muttered, following the brusque and slightly matronly woman out of the hangar.

She stopped and turned on him. 'No. It isn't!'

Then she set off again.

He guessed that meant there was no point in asking her if she knew anything about his missing friends. This woman was sharper, less approachable than Lanae. But she had to be a good twenty years older than him, maybe more, so if she'd been working as a slave since she was eight like Lanae had, that gave her plenty of reasons to be weird and pissy in his opinion.

Once she'd bustled him into the elevator, he said, 'I didn't catch your name.'

'That's because I didn't give it,' she snapped, touching at her steely grey hair as if checking it was still in place. Then she looked his way and her expression softened just a little. 'It's Raelzine, if you must know.'

He gave her his best crooked smile. 'Nice to meet you.'

She just huffed and strode out ahead of him as the elevator came to a stop, leading the way to his room.

'Eighth floor, third door on the left,' she said as she walked along, flinging his door open and stepping aside to let him pass. 'I take it you couldn't remember and that's why you didn't come back here last night.'

'Yeah, my memory's not as good as it should be,' he lied. In truth, he'd sat down in the passenger seat for a brief rest after packing his cleaning equipment away and had almost instantly fallen asleep in the sheer luxury of it. It certainly beat the lumpy mattress he'd woken up on yesterday.

'Wash...quickly,' Realzine snapped, catching the hem of his shirt and ripping it off over his head before he even had a chance to realise what she was doing.

'Hey, I can do that myself!' he protested, embarrassed by her lack of tact and rather too hands-on approach.

'I would have thought you would be glad to be rid of these rags,' she said holding the shirt between her thumb and forefinger and then tossing it into a corner in disgust. As she did so, he noticed she wore the same bracelets Lanae did, giving him an inkling that they weren't just there for decoration. 'But if you would rather get ready yourself, I'll leave you to it. Soap, water and a razor are over there, and clean clothes are on your bed, green as I understand Magistra Tranaedan requested. I'll try to distract her from your tardiness for as long as I can, but be quick! Oh, and those trousers...just throw them in the corner with the rest of those...items and I'll get rid of them later. Then, come to her room. Three floors down, second door on the right...and use the servants' stairs next to the elevator.'

That said, she bristled her way back out of the room again. Waiting long enough to be sure she wasn't going to open the door and give him one last lecture, Sheppard happily ripped off the rest of those stinking clothes, then washed himself down with the bowl of clean but cold water and an oily soap bar, drying himself on the coarse towel Realzine had provided. He then shaved quickly with the cutthroat blade she'd left him before pulling on his new "uniform".

It was a little big on him, the waist of his trousers too loose and the legs an inch or so longer than necessary, but they were clean and comfortable. Similarly, the jacket overhung his shoulders, and the sleeves half covered his hands, but it made him look smarter, which he guessed was the idea. The material had an oddly opalescent sheen to it, reminding him of the cheap suits he'd seen guests wear at some of his air force buddies' weddings. Reminding himself once again of what he'd been wearing before this, he decided he could put up with looking "cheap" for a while.

The boots, highly polished, no doubt courtesy of Raelzine or Lanae, where actually an almost perfect fit, which he knew to be a good thing. If there was one thing that could debilitate you during a hard day's work it was ill-fitting shoes. They fastened across with five straps each, pulling tight around his ankles and proving surprisingly comfortable. With no mirror around, he did what he could to straighten his hair, and then headed out, wondering just how much trouble he was in for running late.

Bolting down the three flights of stairs, he followed Raelzine's instructions and knocked on the door on the right, the one he recognised from last night. The serving woman snatched the door open with an angry frown, then straightened up, taking in his appearance.

'Better,' she snapped, brushing at the front of his jacket. 'Much better. Now come inside.'

She grabbed his arm and dragged him across the threshold, pushing and prodding him to a spot in the centre of that first section of the room and then telling him to wait there.

Annoyed by her constant pestering, he deliberately took a couple of steps to the left as she walked away. Petty, he knew, but it was about as much rebellion as he dared until he found a definite way out of this place.

Apparently, from the look on her face, Raelzine knew exactly what he'd done as soon as she re-entered. She glared at him, then stood aside with a dip of her head to let Magistra Tranaedan pass.

This morning, Magistra Tranaedan looked even more glamorous than she had the previous evening, again in an off the shoulder number that just about covered what really mattered and flattered her admittedly stunning figure. With her brown hair partially pinned up and the rest hanging in thick ringlets that just brushed her shoulders, and a makeup job that looked like it might have taken a few hours to apply, she did look very beautiful, but it didn't impress him.

She, however, seemed very impressed with him. She stood before him, giving him an approving nod as her eyes wandered over his clothing. 'Well, you certainly know how to clean yourself up, Jadrael. I hope you've done half as good a job on my transport for this morning.'

Over her shoulder, he could see Raelzine frantically signalling to him, flapping her hand up and down and pointing at the floor. He had no idea what she was trying to say.

'Oh, and what Raelzine is rather unsubtly trying to communicate to you is that men of your status are supposed to bow down on one knee when I enter a room. I excused you last night as you obviously weren't feeling yourself. I will not excuse it again.'

Her azure blue eyes bored into his, challenging him not to follow her instruction. Part of him felt like say "what the hell" and standing his ground, but the fact that even Raelzine looked worried for him told him that would be a mistake. No point in making things harder for himself.

Holding her gaze, he got down on one knee as she'd told him to. She smiled faintly, and took hold of his chin, gripping it tightly. 'Next time, make sure you do it the moment I enter, Jadrael. Is that understood?'

'Yes...Magistra Tranaedan.'

Beyond her, he saw Raelzine nod and smile with something resembling pride. Apparently, that had been the right way to answer. Unfortunately, he wasn't sure how long he could keep up the obedient servant act.

'You may stand now.' Magistra Tranaedan crossed to the chaise longue where a coat lay draped carefully to avoid creasing. 'Help me into this, would you?'

He stood and picked up the coat, helping her ease her arms into it, before lifting the heavy fabric into place on her back, all the while being careful not to touch her. As with her dress, this outer garment barely touched her shoulders, leaving her smooth, pale skin exposed. She was a beautiful woman who knew she was a beautiful woman. She obviously wanted everyone else to see that, too.

She slipped on a pair of satin gloves, then as a final accessory, she lifted a slim, transparent scarf from the seat and tossed it back around her neck so it trailed down her back, adding a touch of elegance to her outfit. 'Thank you, Jadrael,' she smiled. 'Now let's go and assess your work.'

She stood still, looking at him, her eyebrow arched, and he suddenly realised she was waiting for him to open the door. He walked over to it and pulled it back, not too quickly. Just another stab at rebellion in his own subtle way.

'Join me in the elevator,' she told him as she swept past, leaving a trail of that heady scent she wore that he could have followed with his eyes closed.

Inside the elevator, it was almost stifling. He cleared his throat to avoid a full on coughing fit, and hoped the transport had some kind of air conditioning that would dilute the effect.

'I want to make it clear that any talk like yesterday's accusations of Mercator Ashnael will not be tolerated while we are at market today, Jadrael. I will not have my household besmirched by such lies.'

He jutted his jaw and refused to answer either way. He wasn't in the habit of making promises he was unlikely to keep.

She closed in on him unexpectedly, then, hitching up his jacket and tugging at his trousers, which had slid down to his hips and were barely hanging on there. 'Looks like someone needs a little feeding up,' she smirked, pulling her scarf from her neck and beginning to thread it through the loops on his waistband. Each tug pulled him a little closer to her than he felt comfortable with, and when she finished tying the scarf tight on his waist, her hands smoothing down his clothes to make him presentable again, he pressed back against the wall and averted his gaze to show her he didn't enjoy her proximity, even if he wasn't allowed to say that much.

'You're very quiet this morning. Are you tired?' she asked.

He slid his eyes her way, giving her a sidelong look. 'I could have used a little more sleep,' he admitted, knowing he wouldn't get any sympathy.

'I believe you mean, "I could have used a little more sleep, Magistra Tranaedan",' she intoned, her eyes drilling into him again.

The implied annoyance was there for him to read in her expression, so he replied, 'I'm sorry, Magistra Tranaedan,' to smooth things over.

'You're fortunate I am such a tolerate mistress. You really need to start using people's titles before you cause serious offence.'

Pissed at her superior attitude, Sheppard couldn't resist biting this time. 'Well, if I had the first idea how the titles work round here, I could do that. But considering I'm from off-world...'

'I said you should never mention that again,' she hissed, eyes narrowing, as she turned on him, pushing him against the wall. 'I won't warn you again.'

'I'm just warning _you_, Magistra Tranaedan,' he drawled, straightening out his clothes as she released the pressure on him. 'I'm pretty sure most people will realise I'm not from this planet as soon as I open my mouth.'

'Then perhaps it would be better if you remained silent while outside the household,' she suggested. 'Now, as I said, not another word about this.'

The elevator slid to a halt and she strode out ahead of him, clearly expecting him to follow in her wake...until she reached the doors of the hangar. There, she handed him a card. 'Here, Jadrael. I'm trusting you with this now. Don't disappoint me.'

Sheppard felt like a kid who'd been handed the front door key on the proviso he didn't stay out too late. He glanced at it, taking in the sleek silver exterior and micro-chipped end. Magistra Tranaedan turned it over for him, placing it back in his hand the way he needed to use it. Then she gestured for him to proceed.

He slotted the card into the control beside the door and watched it slide back, finding two burlies waiting the other side of it. They startled him, but Magistra Tranaedan had pressed in behind him so he had nowhere to go but forward without bowling her over. Even so, that option suddenly seemed very tempting.

'Ahhh, Vandaer, Haelden, good morning. I see you have a gift for your new colleague.'

In their hands, the two men each held a silver cuff, identical to the ones he'd noticed on Lanae and Raelzine, and to the ones they wore themselves. Oh, like hell were they putting those on him.

'I'm not a big fan of jewellery,' he quipped, standing firm even though Magistra Tranaedan was increasing the pressure from behind him.

'I think you'll find they suit you, Jadrael. And they will help you to feel like you belong with us.'

That was what he was afraid of. Though he wore his dog tags with pride, when some little creep wasn't stealing them to cover his identity, this was something else altogether. This was Magistra Tranaedan marking her property, and he was no one's property.

'Perhaps you two young men could help him into them?' the woman at his rear suggested.

And, like the good little servants they were, they did just that, grabbing his arms and forcing him down onto his knees. Though he pulled and strained against their grip, they were bigger and stronger than him, and pretty soon he was wearing two shiny new bracelets. Well, he'd been missing his wristband and watch, but this was hardly a substitute...

'And now we can get on with our day,' Magistra Tranaedan announced in a perky, sunshine voice. 'I see you did an admirable job with my craft.'

The two heavies gave Sheppard a push on freeing him that had him almost landing on his face, but not quiet. He got back to his feet, throwing them both a death-glare, then followed Magistra Tranaedan to her ship.

'Yeah, well, I have my uses,' he quipped, then, seeing her glare added, 'Magistra Tranaeden.'

She smiled, looking him up and down. 'I don't doubt that, Jadrael. I don't doubt that at all.'

Okay, now that was a vibe he really didn't need now he had to get on a ship alone with her. He averted his gaze again, toying with the uncomfortable cuffs rather than looking at her, leaving her in now doubt that he considered that conversation closed.

'Well, now you're wearing your bonds of ownership, you're fit to be seen in public, Jadrael. Shall we get to market?'

Shopping – a form of torture only marginally less painful than a good pummelling as far as he was concerned. He seriously hoped she wasn't as bad as his ex-wife when it came to browsing.

She held her hand out toward him, and after a brief hesitation he took it and helped her aboard. Bonds of ownership, huh? Well, she'd find out just how much of him she owned the very first opportunity he had to make a break for the Stargate. Then she could eat his dust, because that was all he intended to leave her with.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: As promised, I'm back after the weekend. Thanks for all the reviews and alerts, etc. Keep them coming. :)**

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Chapter 7

After the five jumpers in the rescue party had completed their scans of the planet beneath them, Lorne gave orders instructing each team where to land to avoid the problem areas, along with the grid references of the zones each of them should search.

After studying the data they had taken back to Atlantis, Dr Zelenka had advised them that the anomalies in the systems were caused by strong magnetic fields on the planet's surface, fields powerful enough to knock out a jumper if someone flew too close, just as Lorne had suspected.

The scientist had joined Lorne's team on this mission, studying the data they collected from a safe height and creating a map of the planet, plotting out the cities and not one but fourteen heavily magnetised areas of land they couldn't enter in their craft, within which sat some kind of circular structures, one in each area. Judging by the strength of the magnetic fields, he had then been able to calculate the closest safe distance for them to land at to begin their searches.

With fourteen zones to search, it was going to take them the best part of a day to complete their checks, perhaps longer if they ran into any unexpected difficulties.

The sun was just creeping above the horizon as Lorne took his jumper to the area he had appointed his own team's first search zone and set it down at the distance Zelenka had told him would be safe. The jumper suffered no ill effects as they landed, so it seemed he'd judged it right.

As he, his team and the little scientist disembarked, they headed out in a southerly direction, the way they knew the anomaly lay in. After just a few minutes of walking, they crossed a dark band of earth, black coloured sand in amidst all the redder, sandy soil, one they had noted on landing, but which hadn't shown up on their scans.

'Interesting,' Zelenka murmured, toeing it with his boot. 'This is very close to the edge of the magnetic area as I calculated it. I wonder if the people of this planet have somehow infused the ground with a visible warning marker to stop them flying into danger.'

'Maybe so,' Lorne agreed. 'Pity we didn't realise that earlier. We could've saved a lot of time.'

'Better to be certain, though, surely?' Zelenka replied, pushing his glasses up higher to look at him.

'Yeah, you're right.' Although the thought they'd wasted two hours of potential search time on calculations didn't please him much.

They spent the following four hours covering the ground in their designated magnetised area, searching for any sign that Sheppard's team had been there. They found nothing, not a footprint nor a single nut or bolt. All they did find was the amazing walled structure, but they didn't find a way in or out of it. If there was a gate, it wasn't easily locatable. They searched all the land in their section before heading back toward the structure.

'What do you think it is?' he asked Zelenka, craning his neck to look up to the full height of the structure.

'Hard to say,' the Czech shrugged, wiping beads of sweat from his brow. 'I wonder if it's some kind of industrial development to harness the natural magnetism of the land. It's hard to imagine why else there would be any structures out here.'

Lorne looked around at his team, spotting a couple of his men rubbing at their temples. He'd been nursing a nagging headache himself for the past couple of hours and realised it was unlikely to be a coincidence. 'I was thinking it might be a city, you know, like the ones we mapped to the north.'

'I doubt anyone could cope for long in this environment. Electromagnetism of this strength could have serious neurological and physical effects on the human body if exposed over a prolonged period. No one could –'

A cry of anguish interrupted him, carrying high on the air. It had come from those walls, the sound having to travel all the way up above them before escaping its confines.

'Of course...I could be wrong,' Zelenka admitted, swallowing hard.

'Why would anyone live out here? I have a headache already,' Lorne grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose.

'I imagine from the fact there's no way in or out that the people within those walls may not be there by choice, but why they have been trapped out here...well, we can only begin to speculate.'

The place gave Lorne a distinctly bad feeling, especially now that he'd heard that awful cry. 'Since we've found no sign of Sheppard or his jumper I think we have to assume he's not here for the time being. But we have to bear in mind he could have crashed within the enclosure, so if we find no other clues we may have to come back with a team of assault climbers to scale those walls. Let's head back to the jumper.'

No one argued with that. By the time they reached their craft, Lorne's headache had already eased a little. He really didn't envy anyone living behind those walls.

'Okay. Onto the next zone people,' he ordered, standing aside to let everyone board the jumper before him.

Once settled he took them further east, on to the next designated area for their team. Once they'd landed in the safe area, they spread out to cover as wide a track as they could, scouring the ground for signs of life.

Private Garelli, the youngest member of his team suddenly shouted up. 'Sir. I think I see footprints over here.'

Interest piqued, the others hurried over to his position. Though the dust had been disturbed by the breeze, partial boot prints could still be seen, some of them pretty huge. They could well belong to Ronon. And other prints did seem to have the regulation military tread they would expect to find.

'Good work, Garelli. You and Reynolds see how far they head that way, the rest of us will go check out where they came from.'

Again, they could see they were approaching another walled enclosure, and as they did so, they steadily began to feel worse. They hadn't had time to recover from the four hours of exposure they'd already endured before exposing themselves to the electromagnetic field again, and this time it took effect much quicker and hit far harder. Soon, Lorne's head was aching so much he felt like he might paint the floor, and when they reached the walls, he told everyone to stop and take a break. As he popped some Tylenol, he noticed the ground looked more disturbed here than it had on the tracks they'd retraced. Sheppard and his team had stopped here, too, maybe sitting down for a breather.

Resting there did little to help any of them feel better, so they agreed to press on and complete their mission as quickly as possible. They followed the sporadic tracks onward and eventually, in the distance spotted what appeared to be the missing jumper. Picking up speed to reach it, they checked it out. The craft had obviously landed hard, so the theory they'd flown over the magnetic fields had now been proved, but when Lorne pushed inside the battered vessel and found traces of blood, he couldn't help but feel worried.

'Perhaps someone found them and they were taken to the nearest city for medical attention,' Zelenka said hopefully, but Lorne knew that wasn't necessarily a good thing. Not everyone they ran into in the Pegasus Galaxy was benevolent, after all.

'Perhaps...but wherever they are, they're not here any more. Let's get back to the jumper and try to contact the others. Now we know where they came down, the nearest city does seem like the most logical place to start searching.'

They covered the ground far quicker this time, their sense of purpose driving them on. Reynolds had already headed back there with his partner, stepping out of the cloaked craft to greet them on their return.

'Major. We followed the tracks up to just outside of that line you crossed a little way back. After that, they just disappear. Looks like they got picked up.'

Lorne nodded, swigging from his canteen to ease his parched throat. 'We figured that was the most likely outcome. Contact the others and tell them we're headed to the city nearest to the crash site to start asking questions. Hopefully someone there has seen them.'

'Yes, Sir.'

Reynolds dipped back into the jumper to send the message, while Lorne, Garelli and Zelenka took a few moments to catch their breath. They didn't get long to enjoy the rest though, because Reynolds was soon back out the ramp. 'Major, Lieutenant Morgan's team are reporting that they came under attack. A craft approached them as they were returning to their jumper and several men tried to kidnap them. Private Rafferty has been injured. Morgan says the men tried to bite chunks out of him. They're heading back to the 'gate for treatment. Jumper Two and Five are headed our way, but I couldn't raise Jumper Three, yet.'

'Bite chunks out of him? You kidding me?'

It was clear from Reynolds' expression that he was deadly serious, even without the shake of his head. Lorne's skin prickled at the thought and, scouring their surroundings, he suggested it might be wise if they all got on board and continued to try to contact Jumper Three from within the safety of its confines while they headed to the rendezvous point at the nearest city to Sheppard's downed jumper. Hopefully, Morgan's team were the only ones to have met up with the crazies of this planet, and they wouldn't come across any natives picking pieces of Lanteans from their teeth.

oooOOOooo

Ashnael had counted out the notes five times now, still hardly able to believe how much money the pilot had brought him. Fifty thousand tallots. If he didn't sell another slave for the rest of the year he would still eat well, perhaps for the next few years after that, too. He'd hardly dared to believe Magistra Tranaedan would agree to his price, but an off-worlder here on Haraendon was worth a small fortune, as his deal with the desperate woman had proved. Of course, the fact he was a pilot and therefore could slot straight into a recently vacated position within the Tranaedan household had been a stroke of luck he could never hope to replicate. Right place, right time...or wrong place, wrong time if you were Lt Colonel John Sheppard, he supposed.

He pulled the necklace the man had worn from his pocket and examined the strange markings on the surface of the pendant. There wasn't enough metal in it to make it of any real value, so he'd decided to keep it...a souvenir of the best deal he'd ever made.

Later today, Curan Bathraen would drop by his house with the ten thousand tallots he owed him for his new assistant. It was poor in comparison, but still, as an unexpected sale, he certainly couldn't grumble. And every tallot gained from those two sales made the loss of any earnings from the woman easier to bear. Who would have thought she would share a lineage with the Wraith? Her exterior and demeanour had certainly not given any clue to the secret she hid from them. Still, at least he hadn't been caught by a government spy probe with her in his house. That would have been far worse than losing a few thousand tallots.

And then, of course, there was the man lying down in his recovery room.

Packing his tallots away in the decorative casket Magistra Tranaedan had presented them in and locking it in his safe, he decided it was time to check on his new acquisition.

The journey down took only moments, and the corridors were quiet, his servants all at work in the higher levels of the house. In the recovery room, Ronon still lay unconscious, no sign that he had moved from the last time Ashnael had checked on him the previous evening. His breathing was deep and steady, his vitals holding at expected levels. He was strong, the evidence of that was plain to see. Ashnael had no doubt he would make a full recovery and quite quickly. The sooner the better as far as he was concerned. The solutions to feed him while he was kept unconscious were expensive...more expensive that normal food...even the mountainous amounts he presumed it would take to keep a man like this at the peak of physical fitness.

Allowing his fingers to trail down Ronon's arm, he had to admire the condition of the man's body. This was a being used to physical exertion – a body like this could only be obtained through hard work. He would have to make sure he had regular exercise to keep him in shape. He would speak to Exerceo Yarae about giving him some pointers. He could afford the man's services for a few days now.

He watched Ronon's broad chest rise and fall for a while beneath the neat dressings Curan Bathraen had applied after his surgery, fairly salivating at the prospect of taming the brute. It would be a challenge for a start, that much was clear. There was something almost animal-like about him...something reminiscent of a huge wildcat. Hopefully, his claws weren't quite that sharp.

With a final look, and a check of the restraints he had added to be certain he wouldn't get free should he master the sedatives, he left Ronon behind and headed back up into the main house in search of breakfast.

The table in his dining room had been set for one, several choices of dish set out for him to take his pick of his favourites. He filled his plate, and then poured himself a glass of wine to go with it. Perhaps it was a little early for such an indulgence, but he had nowhere to go today so he decided to spoil himself. But, through it all, at the back of his mind, his inner voice told him he shouldn't have to wait to enjoy his new prize. Perhaps he could just go easy on him for a few days, ensure those injured areas were protected somehow. No...no...waiting until Ronon was fully fit would be worth it, he told that tempting voice, forcing it into silence.

Dezrin appeared in the doorway just as the young boys from the kitchen began to clear away his dishes.

'I have prepared your bath for you, Mercator Ashnael,' he told him, keeping his eyes down as his master rose from the table and walked over to him.

'Thank you, Dezrin, but there has been a change of plans. I think I would prefer to indulge in a spot of sparring first. Care to join me?'

The young man's expression briefly expressed the fear that thought brought him, not that Ashnael cared. Fear and pain were what made life worth living. As long as that fear and pain were inflicted by him.

oooOOOooo

It was a great relief for Lorne when he finally received contact from Jumper Three. Their search had taken a little longer than expected due to one of their team falling unexpectedly unconscious. Lorne could well believe that; his own headache was still nagging and an unsettling nausea had descended on him and the rest of his party.

He ordered them back to the gate, even though Wallace, the team leader, was insistent they could still help. Three jumpers were enough to call on the city and ask a few questions. There was no point in bringing anyone else in if they were feeling unwell. Better that they get back to the infirmary for a check-up.

The ships all remained cloaked as they approached the towering walls, and Lorne instructed the two others to remain cloaked while he landed and tried to communicate their problem to whoever was inside those walls.

He and Zelenka departed the jumper, leaving the other three members of their party inside to guard the ship and cover them unseen should any crazies appear.

The communication system wasn't the most straightforward piece of tech Lorne had ever seen, but thankfully Zelenka swiftly had it fathomed and gave him a quick rundown of what he needed to do.

Lorne activated it and spoke into the panel. 'Uh. Hi there. My name is Major Lorne and my people and I are currently looking for some friends who crashed on your planet. Is it possible for you to let us in?'

His question didn't meet with any response at all, and after a minute or so of silence, in which Zelenka shrugged and checked the communication panel again, confirming Lorne had used it correctly, the major tried it one more time.

'My name is Major Evan Lo –'

'Do you have an authorisation code?' a voice snapped back at them through the device.

The two men exchanged a surprised glance, then Lorne leaned in to answer. 'Uh, no, we don't. Like I said, we're trying to locate some friends –'

'You cannot enter without the appropriate authorisation code,' that same voice squawked, its brusqueness not softened at all by the distortion of the mechanism.

Lorne rolled his eyes and took a deep breath to stop himself from being as sarcastic as he sorely wanted to be. Instead, he kept his response to a polite question. 'And where can we get the authorisation we need?'

After a brief pause, the voice told him, 'You need to apply to central government for authorisation to move between cities.'

This was like getting blood from a stone. Again, he kept a tight rein on his temper so he could get the information he needed to help with his mission. 'So how do I contact them?'

Another pause, then a screen above the communicator flickered into life, showing a map of the cities. The one they were at was marked out in red and another city, one far to the west of their position, flashed brilliant white. 'You are currently at Traginta Duo. You need to head to Uno, marked in white on the map. That is where central government is located. You will need to petition First Minister Thalaezin for assistance with your request.'

The screen blanked out again and the communicator fell silent. Apparently, that was the end of the conversation as far as whoever was on the other side of that gate was concerned.

'Well, at least he was helpful,' Zelenka said, trying to put a positive spin on things. 'So, are we heading over to Uno?'

Lorne planted his hands on his hips and thought about it. This was all getting more complicated than he'd imagined it would be, and if they now had to apply to government officials to gain entrance to any of the cities, he figured that was beyond the remit of his position as acting military commander.

'No. Now we head back to Atlantis and advise Dr Weir of what we've discovered so far. If anyone can talk these people into handing over whatever authorisation we need, she can.'

Zelenka nodded, then scurried along behind him as he headed back to the jumper. 'I think you're making the right call. Negotiations like these can be very delicate. Better to leave it to an expert.'

'Meaning a flyboy like me might screw it up?' Lorne asked with a smirk as they mounted the jumper's rear hatch.

'No, no, not at all,' Zelenka wittered, looking worried, 'but Dr Weir –'

'Don't sweat it, Doc. I know what you meant,' the major laughed, sliding back into the pilot seat and taking the craft up. He contacted the others still cloaked there and advised them of their new plan, and they were soon all headed back home to give Dr Weir the latest news.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Sorry for the lack of Sheppard last time, but there's plenty of him to go around today. Enjoy! :)**

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* * *

****Chapter 8 **

Sheppard found himself back behind the controls of Magistra Tranaedan's transport some several hours after they'd ventured out that morning. They had spent God-only-knew how much time with various dress vendors, while she tried on just about every outfit available and asked him his opinion. As if what he thought mattered to her anyway. In the end, she had picked something in deep crimson that clung to her every curve...way too obvious for his liking, not that he hadn't enjoyed the show all the same.

After that, he'd been subjected to the same kind of treatment, measured and prodded and poked by whispering, giggling tailors' assistants who enjoyed their work just a little too much in his opinion. He'd been pulled and pushed in and out of at least twenty different suits, paraded for his new mistress, and stuck with more pins than he had bothered to count as they'd made the adjustments necessary to make the oversized outfits fit his form. How anyone found that kind of thing enjoyable was completely beyond him.

Sheppard had thought about making a break for it numerous times, but on each occasion that voice, that feeling, had persuaded him not to, assuring him escape was not as easy as he imagined and that he and his friends would be safer if he didn't. Of course, he'd internally argued with that presence in his mind, pointing out the whole reason he was currently in this ridiculous situation was because he had followed it in the first place, but it had simply countered with the fact it had led him to the help Ronon needed and meant him no harm. Though, if it had been just about him he'd have been willing to challenge that theory, the fact his actions might endanger his friends and ruin their hopes of freedom kept him from doing it. So he'd endured the morning in sullen silence, biding his time and figuring he could weather the humiliation of being this Tranaedan woman's latest toy until Atlantis sent in help. But one thing was for sure – shopping with Nancy had never been this bad. He mentally took back every bad thought he'd ever had about her annoying shopping habits because they weren't a patch on this.

Now, he was back in his comfort zone at the controls of her vehicle. Feeling himself instantly calming, he started the engine and turned the craft around, heading back to the Tranaedan house. He could feel himself flagging now following his hard night's work, but since he was a pilot, the end of this excursion hopefully meant his duties were over for the day. Perhaps he'd be able to put his feet up while he waited for rescue.

'You did well today, Jadrael. Very well. I hope you weren't too bored.'

Sheppard peered over at his passenger, figuring the real answer wasn't what she'd actually want to hear. 'No...not at all, Magistra Tranaedan,' he lied, remembering his manners.

'I'm sure you'll be pleased to have some clothes that actually fit you soon,' she said, leaning toward him a little in her seat. 'I'm sure you wouldn't wish to have to wear that scarf of mine all the time.'

The scarf had certainly caused a comment or two from the ladies in the shop where he'd been fitted for his new pilot clothes, not to mention some raised eyebrows. 'No...it's not ideal,' he admitted. 'I'll let you have it back when we get to your house.'

'Oh, no need,' she told him with a dismissive wave of her hand. 'You keep it. I have many more.'

Floaty scarves weren't really his thing, but he didn't think it was worth arguing with her over something so trivial. He had no desire to be barbequed again for overstepping the mark.

Though he wasn't supposed to escape at this time, he took this trip as an opportunity to mentally map out the city, noticing huge factories belching out smoke and steam, and even some sections of arable land housed under huge glass domes where they grew vegetables, crops and even raised some animals. He supposed that made sense since the city people apparently thought the lands outside the city were contaminated with some kind of poison, but there didn't appear to be enough to feed everyone in that thriving metropolis. Because of the supposed pollution, everything had to be done within the city confines, so the developments he passed were more diverse than could be found in an equal sized area on Earth. This was a microcosm of an entire country's activities compressed into an area no bigger than Manhattan Island, perhaps not even that size.

For a brief moment, he thought about taking the ship out over the city walls and dumping his "owner" en route to the gate, but again, that new and irritating second conscience he'd acquired convinced him not to do it for the sake of his friends. He supposed that if he escaped and the magistra actually knew where they were, he wouldn't put it past her to take it out of their hides. Plus, she was currently cradling that handy, purse-sized cattle prod she apparently favoured. Though he figured he could overpower her relatively easily, whether he could do it without crashing was more questionable, and if he tried to set down first, she was bound to fry him for deviating from his instructions. Finally admitting the voice might have a point, he gave up on the idea...for now.

Magistra Tranaedan yawned, covering her mouth, and then giggling a little as she looked over at him. 'Shopping is so tiring. It's lucky I have someone like you to take me home. It makes me feel much safer knowing I won't fall asleep and crash while travelling.'

Not that Sheppard was sure he wouldn't do just that himself if he didn't get them back quickly. He wove in and out of the frantic traffic, having quickly mastered the main controls he needed to get the thing moving. He let go of them long enough to rub one hand down his face, clearing the blurriness creeping into the edges of his vision. He had to stay sharp for just a little while longer. He couldn't afford to lose concentration...a fact that wasn't helped when he felt Magistra Tranaedan's hand slipping onto his thigh. Just when he'd started to think she'd tired of flirting with him.

'I find your mastery of this craft very impressive. My last pilot took considerably longer to give me such a smooth ride.'

Sheppard kept his eyes straight ahead, ignoring the obvious insinuation. 'Yeah, well it's pretty simple really. I've flown a lot of different craft, so I adapt to new things quickly.'

'I imagine you do. I'm sure you'll soon be fitting in with the rest of my household if you continue like this. And I'm so pleased you decided to let go of the foolishness you insisted on yesterday. The other staff know not to engage in such ridiculous conversations, so it would be pointless anyway.' She moved her hand now and Sheppard released the breath he'd been unconsciously holding. Danger over again. 'Oh, and you'll be meeting my husband at some point soon...make sure you don't mention any nonsense about being an off-worlder to him because he really doesn't approve of having outsiders in the house. And if you think I'm a harsh mistress...' She left the sentence unfinished, but the implication hung in the air for him to mull over at his leisure.

By the time he got them back to her home, Sheppard was not only confident with the craft, but also with dealing with the crazy flying of the other city folk. Overall, it was a lot easier than battling Wraith darts – and shopping – so he started to relax into it and enjoy the challenge. It certainly helped to keep him awake when he hit the busiest spots. Bringing the craft to a halt outside the house, Sheppard watched Magistra Tranaedan fumble a small control unit from her purse to activate the entrance and the underground hangar. A huge set of finely cast gates depicting eagle-like birds swung back and a large section of metal groundwork slid back, revealing the ramp he'd flown up on the way out that morning. He hadn't seen how she'd worked it that time, but now he knew. He imagined only she and the man of the house held controls to all the doors and windows, otherwise they would be leaking slaves like a sieve. At least now he knew what the control looked like he stood a chance of recognising it if he got the opportunity to lift it...that being a pretty big if, of course. His preference right now was for the Daedalus to turn up and beam him and his team the hell out of there...failing that, a couple of jumpers full of marines making their presence felt would do very nicely. He really wasn't fussy.

Taking the craft down into the lower levels, he parked it in the spot where he'd taken it from that morning and the ramp closed behind them, shutting out the daylight.

'Thank you, Jadrael. Smoothly done,' Magistra Tranaedan purred.

'Thanks...Magistra Tranaedan.'

He stood and opened the door, jumping down to help her out. He offered her his hand, but she had other ideas, gesturing for him to come forward so she could place her hands on his shoulders and he could lift her down. He let go of her the moment her feet touched the floor, but the same could not be said of her. Her hands lingered, her eyes fixed on his, and for a second or two he felt himself inexplicably drawn to her...until the sound of someone clearing their throat disturbed the moment.

Raelzine, who had obviously seen them return, stood in the doorway wearing an expression like she'd been chewing a hornet.

'Welcome back, Magistra Tranaedan,' she said, forcing on a tight smile. 'I trust you had an enjoyable morning?'

'Very enjoyable, yes.' Magistra Tranaedan strode toward her servant, slipping off her coat and dropping it into her waiting arms as she passed her. 'Jadrael and I got on famously. He even helped me pick my new dress.'

The look Raelzine shot him as he approached told him just what she thought of that. 'Really?' she asked, keeping her tone light as she scowled at him. 'How very helpful of him.'

'And now I'm famished. Can you arrange for lunch to be brought to my room?'

'I could, but Curan Rabbrine is here to see you.'

'Already?' The magistra checked the delicate timepiece she wore on her arm. 'Really? He said he couldn't make it until later. Still, the sooner this is done the better. And since he's here, I'll take lunch with him in the dining room.'

'Very good, Magistra,' Raelzine agreed, dipping her head. 'I'll make the arrangements.'

'Jadrael, you take some rest and refreshments yourself. I'll see you again after we've eaten.'

'Yes, Magistra,' he said, slowing to a stop as she strode away toward the elevator. He figured he'd be relegated to using the stairs since she'd now dismissed him. Great, so that was about ten flights. His legs might just about hold out as long as he could collapse into bed at the end of the climb.

A slap to the back of his head stirred him from his self-pity. 'OUCH! What the hell was that for?'

'I saw the way you were looking at Magistra Tranaedan when the two of you were in the hangar. You need to put such foolishness from your mind this very instant.'

Sheppard huffed out a laugh and strode after Raelzine as she walked away from him, heading for the servant's stairs. 'I don't know what you think your saw, but I can assure you I have no interest in that woman.'

'Of course not. Why would a young man such as yourself be enamoured with a beautiful woman like Magistra Tranaedan?'

'Hard as this may be to believe, I do have the ability to see past people's appearances,' he grumbled, although he had fallen for a pretty face more than once in his time only to be disappointed by what lay beneath the surface. Of course, Raelzine didn't need to know that.

She turned to look at him so abruptly he almost tripped over her. 'Oh really? So what was your excuse for having your hands all over her when you disembarked the craft?'

'She told me to do it that way...and I let go of her before she let go of me, or didn't you notice that?'

'I noticed the way you couldn't take your eyes off her.'

'She was doing all the running,' he insisted, although, if he allowed himself to admit it, he had been momentarily tempted to cave in.

'So, you're insinuating the mistress is making advances to you?'

He rubbed the back of his aching neck, stifling a yawn. This was an argument he had no hope of winning, nor the energy required to keep up. 'No, I didn't say that.'

The serving woman then spotted the end of Magistra Tranaedan's scarf hanging down beneath his jacket, lifting it up a little and letting it drop in disgust. 'And what is the idea of this?'

'She was worried I'd lose my pants.'

'So you'll be returning it, I assume?'

Now he felt awkward again. 'She said I didn't have to...' he muttered, realising it sounded like he was talking gifts from his owner now, too.

Raelzine sighed, shaking her head. 'You have to be cleverer than this, Jadrael. You never know who is watching.'

'You mean her husband?'

'Or one of his inner circle of loyal servants, such as Waelden and Vandaer. If they found out you were behaving frivolously with Magistra Tranaedan, word would soon get back to the master and –'

'I'd meet with an unfortunate accident,' he finished for her. 'I get it. I'll try to keep things more...professional.'

'That would be wise.' She breathed in deeply, letting it out through her nose as if practicing some of those breathing techniques Teyla was so good at. 'Now get to your room. I'll bring you something to eat once I have dealt with Magistra Tranaedan and her guest.'

She left him at the entrance to the stairwell, and he let her go on ahead so he didn't have to endure any more of her disparaging looks and snorts. She reminded him of the nanny his dad had employed after his mother's death, an austere woman bereft of all warmth and understanding – just about as different in character from his mother as a woman could get. Instead of easing his sense of loss, she'd just added to it, a daily reminder of what was missing from his life. Raelzine set him right back to being that little boy again, lost and lonely and constantly feeling the need to win her approval.

The climb to his room was energy sapping, and by the time he got up there, all he could do was drop down on his lumpy mattress and close his eyes, allowing sleep to take him almost as soon as his head hit his equally uncomfortable pillow...

_...He saw ramshackle huts, muddy ground, and strange red-skinned, red-eyed people reaching out to him, begging for help. Children squatted in the filth, eating scraps of food that were clearly well past their best, tattered clothing hanging from their skinny limbs. Mothers, hollow-eyed with malnutrition, crouched in doorways, huddled into themselves, their faces etched with the truth that their children were suffering and they couldn't alleviate it. Men, down-trodden and afraid, gambled for extra rations, the only possible option to ease their family's almost perpetual hunger for just a few hours. All this encased within walls that climbed right up into the sky, blanking out the sun's rays. _

_All around him, he could sense pain, oppression, claustrophobia...sickness. These people were ill and trapped and wanted his help. But what could he do? He was trapped on this planet, too._

'_He has come.' _

_A single voice, clearer than the others rang out with those all too familiar words. And he knew now they were talking about him._

'_I can't help you,' he called out. 'I wish I could, but I can't get out of here to get help.'_

_A small child now stood up and toddled toward him, huge eyes bright and amber in colour as she arrived at his feet and gazed up at him and said, 'The sensory wishes to speak with you.'_

'Jadrael!'

Sheppard's eyes snapped open in response to the voice raised at such close proximity. He found Raelzine leaning over him, yet again looking annoyed.

'You cannot sleep now. You need to eat and then the craft will need to be cleaned again.'

'Are you kidding? I barely slept last night I spent so long cleaning that thing.'

'And now you have been out in it today and it is filthy again. It must be cleaned every time you return, both inside and out, and then polished again before reuse, if necessary. Magistra Tranaedan did explain that craft maintenance was your role, didn't she?'

'Yeah, but –'

Raelzine held up her index finger to silence him. 'This is not up for discussion, Jadrael. These are the standards expected in the Tranaedan household, and you will not let things slide. Understood?'

Sheppard sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, yawning. 'Understood.'

'Now eat. You need to keep up your strength before you waste away to nothing, young man.'

She thrust a plate of food under his chin, and since he hadn't even had a chance to eat that morning he was grateful for the generous portions she'd provided. As he began to eat, she poured him a tankard of water. 'The mistress wishes to see you in the dining room when she's finished eating, eight floors down and the second door on your right out of the staircase, but that will be a little while yet. Once you've finished your own meal, head downstairs and wait outside the dining room. I'll tell you when she's ready for you.'

Sheppard chewed his mouthful of food, frowning up at her as he swallowed it. 'I thought I was supposed to clean the transport?'

She slammed the pitcher down and glared at him. 'You're supposed to do what you're asked to do, _when_ you're asked to do it.'

'That would depend on what she asks me to do, right?'

He regretted the snipe when he saw Raelzine's cheeks colour up in embarrassment. She could barely meet his eye after that. 'In the closet you'll find more clothes – Manstaen's clothes. When you're ready to clean the craft again, you'll need to change into work clothes like these.' She reached inside the closet and pulled out some neatly folded clothing made of less extravagant materials than his ill-fitting suit, making sure he'd seen the ones she meant before replacing them there. 'And I've found you a belt, so you can give the scarf back to Magistra Tranaedan at your earliest convenience.' She pulled said belt out of the closet, and as she did so looked directly at him. 'And I strongly suggest you do that to ensure your rebuttal of her personal interest is understood.'

This time, he didn't crack a joke, just nodded. 'I'll do that.'

He fancied he saw the faintest flicker of relief on her face as she left him there. Maybe, despite being an in-your-face bitch, Raelzine meant well after all.

Sheppard ate his meal quickly, feeling re-energised by the surge of calories. He thought about McKay and hoped he was being fed well...although his owners would probably be suffering more than he was if they weren't giving him enough to eat. If he _was_ a slave, of course...he had no real idea where any of his friends were...or if Ronon had even survived...

He forced himself to push those worries to the back of his mind, needing to stay focused. Hopefully, he would find out news somehow...maybe even run into them sometime when he was out with Magistra Tranaedan. For now, he just had to hope they were safe and that Atlantis had teams out looking for them to get them out of this crazy city while they were all still intact.

Once he'd eaten everything Raelzine had given him, he straightened out his clothes and headed down eight flights of stairs to find the dining room.

The second set of doors on the right were closed as he approached, so he did as Raelzine had told him to and waited around, leaning back against the wall beside them and hoping this wouldn't take too long. Some of the other servants passed him as he waited, including the two heavies who had forced him into the cuffs earlier. They stared at him from under surly brows, and much as he felt like giving them hell for their rough treatment of him earlier, he figured they were like him, servants, or rather slaves, doing their job so they didn't get into trouble with their owners. He averted his gaze to show he wanted no trouble, and they went on their way to malice whoever was next on their hit list. He guessed it was no surprise that there might be a hierarchy even among their sub-class.

Eventually, Raelzine bustled down the corridor, pushing him up away from the wall and fussing over his clothes and hair to ensure he looked as smart as possible before she opened the door and announced his arrival.

He heard Magistra Tranaedan tell the woman to show him in, and with a gentle but firm push, Raelzine did just that, the expression she wore telling him to heed her earlier warnings.

The dining room was resplendent, a tall window at one end flooding the whole area with light. The space, vast in proportions, was dominated by an enormous metal table, currently only set for its two occupants, but with five six-armed candlesticks evenly spaced along its length, seated atop a scarlet runner. Someone in this house sure liked red, and he figured it was the woman now sitting in front of him considering her earlier choice in outfits. At least she hadn't insisted he wear that colour, too.

'Jadrael...come closer,' Magistra Tranaedan smiled, gesturing for him to approach.

He took a few steps nearer, but not too close, unsure of what was considered a respectful distance. He didn't want to get into trouble for invading anyone's personal space.

'Jadrael, this is Curan Rabbrine, the finest physician in Traginta Duo.'

Sheppard looked at the wiry, pompous looking man, wondering what she expected him to say. He played it safe and dipped his head toward the man. It seemed to be enough.

'So, this is your new pilot?' Rabbrine said, standing up and clipping a small pair of spectacles to his nose. Sheppard watched as the lenses adjusted, like the lens of a camera bringing its subject matter into focus. 'Hmmm, he's older than the last...and thinner.'

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Sheppard tried not to take offence, especially since he was carrying more weight than the man currently insulting him. Why did everyone here have such an issue with his weight? Apparently, the people of this planet hadn't heard of fast metabolisms.

'Would you give him a check-up please, Curan?' Magistra Tranaedan asked, now turned in her seat to face them. 'Mercator Ashnael told me he was fully fit, but I would feel more confident of that if you were to confirm it.'

'Of course.'

The physician crossed to a side table, where he had set down his bag before eating his meal. He brought it now to the main table and pulled out a few instruments.

'On your knees, boy,' he ordered.

Sheppard raised his eyebrows, looking toward Magistra Tranaedan. He had no intention of getting on his knees for this man. It was bad enough having to do it for her.

'It's all right, Curan Rabbrine. If you are having trouble reaching him, he can sit.'

The man arched an eyebrow of his own. 'Sit?' Then with a disapproving peer at Sheppard, he added, 'As you wish, Magistra Tranaedan.'

The magistra signalled the chair he should take with a quick flick of her gaze, and Sheppard pulled out the seat beside her, turning it round so the back was to the table.

Curan Rabbrine began his examination, or rather assault, the moment his butt hit the chair. He pushed Sheppard's head back and shone a painfully bright light into his eyes, leaning in close enough for Sheppard to get a more than tolerable whiff of his halitosis. He seemed to be taking an unnecessarily long time over it, but the device was constantly whirring and adjusting, so he figured it did more than just effectively blind him.

After searing the retinas of both his eyes, Curan Rabbrine announced, 'Well, he has perfect vision.'

'Until now,' Sheppard muttered, blinking and rubbing his tears away.

Rabbrine just batted his hands aside, shoving what he assumed was some kind of thermometer into his mouth. 'Keep that in until I remove it and don't speak.'

The physician tested other things while he kept the thermometer in place, looking in his ears and messing around in his hair as if checking for bugs.

That done, the stick in his mouth made a loud, high-pitched noise, and Rabbrine pulled it out, reading the data window. 'Hmmmm.'

'Hmmm good, or hmmm bad?' Sheppard asked.

The physician stopped momentarily and glared at him, then continued the examination. He took hold of Sheppard's wrist next and checked his pulse. 'That's a little elevated,' he commented, counting it against his timepiece.

'I get that way when strangers start poking me around,' he quipped, hearing a slight snort of amusement from Magistra Tranaedan at his side.

'Hmmm,' was Rabbrine's only comment.

The wiry man forced open Sheppard's mouth, checking his tongue and teeth, poking his fingers around in there to the extent the colonel felt like biting down just to get him to quit. Still, he didn't think that would go down too well, so he played the dutiful servant and let him satisfy his medical curiosity. Just so long as he didn't try probing any other orifices...

'Jacket off,' Rabbrine barked, pulling back and waiting for him to do as he was told.

Okay, he could take off the jacket. That wasn't too much. Even Raelzine couldn't see that as inappropriate behaviour under the circumstances. He unbuckled the jacket and slid it down his arms so it fell behind him on the seat of the chair, leaving him wearing just the vest he had beneath it.

'Hmmmm,' Rabbrine murmured, his stock response to anything, or so it seemed. 'Stand up.'

Sheppard pushed up to his feet, sorry to leave the comfort of his upholstered seat.

'Two steps forward.'

This was starting to feel like being on parade. He stepped forward twice and the physician circled him, intermittently prodding, poking and groping various muscles on his way around. If the man hadn't been a doctor, Sheppard would have punched him where he stood...he was sorely tempted to anyway when the curt little man effectively goosed him.

'Was that entirely necessary, or just for your own gratification?' he growled.

Apparently, that was a quip too far. 'Jadrael...remember your place,' his owner warned, though her amusement was plain to see.

Examination complete, Rabbrine stood back and appraised him again, eventually nodding. 'Well, he's a little lean, but certainly in very good health. His musculature is well defined, though not overly so, suggesting a propensity for endurance rather than short bursts of strength.'

At Sheppard's side, Magistra Tranaedan now stood and gave his biceps a squeeze. 'Endurance? That's good.' He could hear the insinuation dripping from her words and refused to look at her, no matter how insistently her gaze was now burning into him.

'What's this dressing for?' Rabbrine asked, pointing at the covering on Sheppard's right inner forearm.

'I'm not entirely sure,' she confessed. 'Mercator Ashnael told me he was injured in transit from his previous household. He wasn't happy to leave, so I'm told.' She clung to his left arm, stroking her free hand up and down it now. Raelzine was going to kill him if she walked in right now.

'I can believe that, he certainly has an excess of attitude,' Curan Rabbrine agreed. 'I'll take a look and ensure it's healing well.'

These were the times when Sheppard cursed his hirsuteness, hissing as Rabbrine took hold of the dressing and ripped it off in one quick swipe. He thanked whatever mercies were at work that it was only strapped on the inside of his arm or they would have been scraping him off the beautiful and elaborately sculpted ceiling right now.

'Hmmm,' Curan Rabbrine rather predictably said, lifting his arm to take a closer look at the injury. His glasses buzzed and whirred as he refocused them to study the stitches. 'I see Curan Bathraen's work in this. He's done a fair job...I would have done better myself, of course.'

_Modesty notwithstanding,_ Sheppard thought, feeling a little crowded with the two of them leaning in to get a look. It was just a cut, nothing to write home about.

'Actually, this might come in quite useful. Let me run a scan.'

Rabbrine pulled yet another bizarre looking device from his bag of tricks and passed it over Sheppard, Magistra Tranaedan standing back to let him do a thorough scan.

'Hmmmm, no previous ownership chip. At least that's less work,' Curan Rabbrine mumbled. The physician reached back into his bag next, pulling out a box. He set it down on the table and opened it up to reveal a nasty looking set of scalpels. 'Do you have yours ready, Magistra?'

'What are they for?' Sheppard asked, his heart beating a little harder now. It wasn't that he had anything against doctors per se, but doctors on alien planets baring boxfuls of scalpels pretty much brought him out in hives.

'I'll have one of the servants bring it here,' Magistra Tranaedan replied, crossing to a panel in the wall that was apparently a communications device. 'Vandaer, Waelden – bring the identity chip from Magister Tranaeden's study to the dining room. It's in the top left drawer.' She smiled as she turned their way. 'They'll be here shortly.'

'I'll go in through the existing injury,' Curan Rabbrine suggested, picking his weapon of choice from the available selection.

The sight of the doctor with the scalpel, and the knowledge that the gruesome twosome were on their way to help out, caused Sheppard's sense of self-preservation to kick into a higher gear. In a movement far too quick for the physician or Magistra Tranaedan to anticipate, he grabbed hold of the smaller man and forced the knife to his throat.

'Nobody's cutting me, you got that?' he insisted, holding the man in front of him as a shield.

Magistra Tranaedan's shocked expression swiftly shifted to anger. 'Let him go and stop this foolishness, Jadrael,' she ordered, but he wasn't about to just jump to it while he had some leverage.

What he hadn't counted on was that his owner had a trick of her own up her sleeve...or rather, concealed in her cleavage.

He saw her pull out something small and black, and pen-like in shape, though only half the length. She twisted it then aimed it at him, and a sudden, irresistible force pulled at his left wrist, drawing his arm away from the physician's body, allowing the man to squirm free. Even so, Sheppard's arm continued to move until it collided with the table and stuck there. He tugged, but there was no budging it. The damn thing was stuck fast. And just when he thought it couldn't get any worse, his right wrist was suddenly drawn to the table under the same compulsion. He was trapped.

Magistra Tranaedan sauntered over to him and tugged the scalpel from his grip. 'I think I may have neglected to tell you that those cuffs aren't purely decorative. They can also be magnetised if a servant needs to be restrained.'

'Yeah...I noticed that,' he grunted, still pulling against them. But she was right; they weren't going anywhere.

'Why would you do something so...stupid, Jadrael? Curan Rabbrine is only going to carry out a minor procedure; it will be over in a very short time,' she told him, catching hold of his chin so he had to look at her.

'He's talking about cutting my arm open. You thought I was going to just sit back and let him?'

'All the slaves in this household have undergone this procedure. You think you deserve special treatment?' she challenged.

He wanted to yell 'Yes', because he didn't belong there and he wasn't her property, but he knew there was no point. As far as she was concerned, she'd paid for his services and he was hers to label as she would.

'I'll take that silence as a no, shall I?'

A knock at the door heralded the arrival of the servants she'd called. She told them to enter, and they stepped inside, clearly surprised by the scene in front of them.

'We need to put an ownership chip into Jadrael. Would you help us make him more comfortable?' she instructed, taking the box one of them carried and clutching it to her chest as they advanced on him.

The two men lumbered forward, again catching hold of an arm each. The instant Magistra Tranaedan deactivated his cuffs and he could move freely, they lifted him off the floor and slammed him down on the tabletop. And then he was stuck again, with what felt like half a dinner set wedged under his back and his arms spread out at his sides as if he was a specimen in a butterfly collection.

'You can go now,' Magistra Tranaedan ordered, and the men withdrew again, leaving him at the mercy of the doctor and his irate "owner". The smirks they wore as they withdrew told him his troubles were just beginning.

Curan Rabbrine cleared his throat, and straightened his clothing. 'As I was saying, we can enter through his current injury to prevent leaving another scar. I'll unpick a couple of Bathraen's stitches and cut down deep enough to implant the chip there.'

He took the scalpel from Magistra Tranaedan and caught hold of Sheppard's right arm, first slicing through the sutures, then digging into the exposed raw flesh, making Sheppard scream as the blade jabbed into what nerves remained undamaged by the accident.

Magistra Tranaedan forced something into his mouth. 'Here, bite down on this,' she ordered, and he clamped his teeth onto the cold metal until they threatened to crack.

Rabbrine took his sweet time making a suitable incision, and although Sheppard knew he was working with a scalpel, it felt more like he was hacking away with a butter knife. The guy really needed to sharpen his instruments...or maybe that was the point and this was supposed to hurt.

He watched through tear-filled eyes as the man picked up some tweezers and lifted the chip from the box, inserting it into his wound and igniting the pain all over again. He gritted his teeth, and screwed his eyes shut until it crested and then subsided again to almost bearable once the chip was set in place.

With the pain now lessening, he felt a hand stroking his hair back from his sweat soaked forehead, and opened his eyes to find Magistra Tranaedan smiling down at him. 'Almost done, Jadrael. You're doing well.'

'Doing well?' Rabbrine snorted. 'He almost slit my throat!'

'And I will deal with that in time,' she snapped at the physician, clearly annoyed that he'd questioned her manner. 'You do your own work and leave his discipline to me.'

He didn't have much time to worry about what that discipline might be before Rabbrine started stitching him up and he was breaking his teeth on that bit again. Somehow, he really didn't believe this doctor was better than the first one who worked on him. Finally, much sweating, trembling and muffled cursing later, the job was finished and Magistra Tranaedan turned the magnetism off again. He didn't sit up straight away, preferring to lay there a few moments longer to be sure his meal wasn't about to revisit and spoil the decor.

When he did dare to rise, Curan Rabbrine was in his face, angry and embarrassed to have been overpowered by a lesser person in his eyes. 'I hope you learn your lesson, young man. People like you simply cannot behave that way. You almost cut me.'

With his arm throbbing as if it might actually explode, Sheppard just glared and said, 'Well, poor you.'

Rabbrine backhanded him, and he was about to go after the creep when his restraints once again pinned his hands to the table. He was stuck.

'Thank you for your work here, Curan Rabbrine. You can bill me in the normal way, and I'll add a little something for your trouble,' the lady of the house told her guest, opening the door and calling for Raelzine.

'You need to get that one sorted out. He has ideas above his station,' Rabbrine muttered peering back at the colonel while Sheppard contented himself with imagining how it would feel to punch his ratty little face.

'Well, he is very new to us. I'm sure we'll manage to train some of that spirit out of him over time.'

Raelzine appeared, throwing Sheppard a shrivelling look through the door while she led Curan Rabbrine out. Great, so now not only was he sore and due some kind of punishment for his actions, he could look forward to a severe nagging from that old hag, too.

And then Magistra Tranaedan was standing in front of him, arms folded and lips pressed into an angry line. 'I'm very disappointed in you, Jadrael. You're lucky Curan Rabbrine is the kind of man whose silence can be bought or you'd be up on charges. Had I allowed you to hit him just then, however, he might not have been quite so accommodating.'

Sheppard set his jaw and looked away from her, determined not to voice how he felt about that.

She caught his chin and turned him back to face her. 'But at least it's over now, and you're chipped. Now there's no chance of you getting 'lost', because wherever you go, we can track you. It's a double precaution to ensure no slave ever leaves this household without our knowledge.'

His heart sank. Escape was going to be harder than ever now, and his chances had already looked pretty slim.

'Now go. My husband returns tonight and we are dining with some influential friends. Thanks to you, the tabletop now needs repolishing.'

He jumped down from the table and headed out, just as Raelzine was returning from the entrance. She looked at him again, disappointment shining from her ageing eyes, and walked past without saying a word.

Surprisingly, that made him feel a lot crappier than anything else that had happened so far that day.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

As they drew up outside Ashnael's house, Rodney began to feel rather queasy. No, actually he felt like he was bordering on a full out panic attack at the mere sight of the place. A vision of Teyla, bleeding on the floor in front of him as she succumbed to Bathraen's drugs popped unbidden into his head, and he tried to shut it out by thinking pleasant thoughts, only then realising how poorly geared for such things he was. He couldn't think of one single nice thing, only the dozens of ways someone as heartless as Ashnael could beat him senseless if he decided to keep him there instead of letting him leave again with Curan Bathraen.

The physician had been surprisingly pleasant company all day, taking good care of him, supplying him with clean clothes to help him fit in, feeding him more than amply, and had now suggested Rodney attend when he made the trip to pay Curan Ashnael and to check on his patient, Ronon.

Though terrified by the thought after hearing about Ashnael's favourite hobby, McKay had eventually convinced himself that his need to see at least one of his team outweighed his sense of self-preservation. And Ronon had been very sick. He knew seeing him hopefully recovering with his own eyes would put his mind at ease.

As they stopped, the physician turned to face him. 'I'm sorry, Dr McKay, but I'm going to have to put these on you now.' He opened his bag and pulled out two hinged metal cuffs, both bearing the symbol he also had branded into his leather bag.

'What are they?' he asked, having a fair idea what they were, but hoping he was wrong.

'All servants wear them, Dr McKay. You cannot be seen in public without them or you will arouse suspicion.'

Rodney nodded, holding out his arm toward the physician. 'But we can take them off again later, right?'

Bathraen stopped, hesitating before closing the cuff. 'I'm afraid not. The cuffs form a seal and are next to impossible to open once they're on. They have to be taken off by a professional remover once in place. But you can't go into Ashnael's house without them. It's a reportable offence.'

'Oh...right.' Rodney's mind raced, thinking about all the various scenarios where having the cuff stuck on could be dangerous, then forced himself to calm down. 'Okay. Do it. I'm sure I'll be able to figure a way to get them off when we get back home.'

'I have no doubt you will...you were sold to me as a genius, after all,' Bathraen joked, snapping the first cuff shut before he could change his mind.

Rodney tried to smile, he really did, but he couldn't help feeling he had surrendered yet more of his freedom...this time voluntarily.

Dezrin opened the door to them, his face sporting several fresh bruises. McKay's stomach immediately did a somersault at the sight of the painful looking injuries. If he'd needed any evidence that Bathraen's stories were true, it was written in purple and black all over the boy's face.

'Welcome, Curan Bathraen,' the young man said, dipping his head respectfully.

'Oh, Dezrin...not again!' Bathraen sighed. 'Do you need me to come and check you over when I've finished my business with Ashnael?'

'No, Curan Bathraen. It looks far worse than it is.'

Rodney couldn't help but notice the pain flit across Dezrin's face as he turned to lead them to his master. His own stomach knotted at the thought of it. And Ashnael did this to his servants for sport. How could he sleep at night?

The corridor felt oppressive this time, not the supposed safe haven it had represented on their arrival yesterday. He passed the drawing room, almost able to see the huge Satedan lying unconscious on the chaise longue, with Sheppard standing beside him like a protective older brother.

He hoped Sheppard was doing okay. Teyla was supposedly safe and Ronon was as yet unharmed by Ashnael, but he had no idea where the colonel was or how he was getting on. Knowing Sheppard's reputation for rising up against authority even in the rigidly structured ranks of the military when he felt he could make a difference, he doubted the colonel would slip seamlessly into the role of slave without causing a few ripples in the household that had purchased him.

Dezrin knocked on a door further down the corridor than they had managed to travel yesterday, and a familiar voice responded, telling them to enter.

The young man announced them, and then backed out of the room in a low bow. Bathraen looked hugely unimpressed with the pain etched across the boy's face as he folded, and bowled into the room red faced and irate.

'You know if you keep treating that boy that way you'll kill him, don't you?'

Ashnael, who was seated behind an oversized desk in front of a window, lifted his head, clearly a little surprised to see McKay there.

'Bathraen...I trust you've come to pay for that slave.'

'Of course.' The physician pulled a wad of money from his bag, and slapped it down on the desk in front of him. 'And if I had more, I'd buy every slave in your household from you.'

'But I'd only go out and buy more,' the blond man sneered, apparently amused by Bathraen's compassion. 'I don't understand why you complain so much anyway. Am I not your best customer?'

'I would willingly go out in search of more work elsewhere if you would give up your sickening play.'

'You could always do that anyway.'

The banter ceased. McKay had to wonder why the two men dealt with each other if they argued like this whenever they met. Sure, he and Sheppard bickered, but it was usually good humoured and they always had each other's backs. These two genuinely hated one another. Rodney suspected it had something to do with money...most things seemed to where Ashnael was concerned.

Ashnael smirked as if he knew the physician would never give up his custom, and pushed out from behind the desk, crossing to a small door in the wall. He pushed in a coded card, leaned in so a tiny camera lens in the wall beside it could scan his eye, then the door popped open, and he pulled out what looked like a solid gold casket.

He set it down on his desk and sat behind it, making a big show of opening it and finding room for the respectively small bundle of notes.

'How many souls had to suffer to make you that small fortune?' the physician scoffed. 'Have you no conscience at all?'

'Actually, all this came from only one.' Ashnael shifted his gaze to Rodney, and McKay did his best to look disgusted even though he really just wanted to get the hell out of there in one piece. 'Your pilot friend.'

'But there must be thirty thousand tallots there,' Bathraen gasped, watching in horror as he pulled out stack after stack of notes.

'Fifty actually,' he boasted, flicking them with his thumb, his hair wafting in the breeze it caused. 'Magistra Tranaedan_ really_ wanted an off-world pilot.'

Rodney peered over at Bathraen, wondering what that particular choice of intonation meant. The man looked green...even more utterly disgusted with Ashnael for some reason. Was Sheppard in even more trouble than he'd realised?

'You sicken me, Mercator Ashnael. You're a scourge on the face of this planet.'

'But still a paying client,' Ashnael pointed out, now more sombre. He stood and crossed to the door, yanking it open. 'Now, if you'll excuse me, I have profits to count.'

'Blood money...every penny of it,' Bathraen hissed.

'Except it's not blood Magistra Tranaedan wants, is it?' he sneered. 'Now go.'

'Actually, there is one more thing I would like to do before I leave. I want to check on my patient.'

Ashnael folded his arms and narrowed his eyes, his gaze darting between the two of them. 'Why?'

'Because unlike you, I do have a conscience. I would like to ensure Ronon is making good progress,' Bathraen insisted.

'Ronon?' Ashnael smirked. 'I'm not sure who you mean.'

'Yes...I'm sure you've renamed him by now to cover your tracks, but you know of whom I'm speaking,' the physician spat back. 'And I will not take no for an answer.'

Rodney's throat seized at the darkening expression Ashnael wore, certain that he was going to refuse them access to his friend. 'I have no intention of paying you. I didn't request your services.'

'I want no payment,' Bathraen assured him. 'I simply want to ensure the man is well.'

Turning his burning gaze to Rodney, the man asked, 'You do? Or is it to satisfy his curiosity?'

'We would both like to know.'

The answer was honest, and Ashnael seemed to appreciate the candour. He ushered them out, locking the door to his study behind him. 'Very well. Follow me.'

Rodney trailed behind the two men as Ashnael led them to his elevator, figuring that was the way he was supposed to play it. He wasn't very good at being subservient, he now realised, and in the comfort of Bathraen's home there had been no need to be, but here he needed to keep up the pretence. He imagined how Sheppard would have felt riding down with Ashnael and Dezrin, injured and alone. The colonel had known things weren't right, but he'd wanted to save Ronon. McKay just hoped the sacrifice they'd all made had been worth it.

It was with a huge amount of relief that Rodney saw Ronon looked much better than when he'd last seen him as he entered the recovery room. What made him less happy was the fact the man already wore silver slave cuffs, just like his but with a different symbol. This had to be a mark of ownership he now realised, looking down at his own and rubbing at the way the unfamiliar metalwork rubbed his skin. Ronon was not going to like this...nor Sheppard for that matter.

'Well, Curan Bathraen, do your thing and then leave me in peace,' Ashnael drawled, leaning against the wall as Bathraen moved in to carry out his examination.

'Dr McKay, would you assist?' he called back to Rodney, and he immediately scooted forward, though he wasn't sure how much help he could be.

'Not had the foresight to come up with a new name for yours, I see,' Ashnael scoffed, from where he lurked.

'Even if I had, I wouldn't use it unless entirely necessary,' Bathraen told him, carefully peeling back the first dressing. Ronon didn't show any sign of feeling anything, heavily sedated as he still was.

'Is it safe to keep him knocked out that way?' Rodney asked the physician, concerned about the effect this use of drugs might have on him.

'The sedative is harmless, and keeping him immobilised for the first few days speeds the healing in the tissue.'

'It just seems so...wrong,' McKay said softly, his eyes drifting to those cuffs again. The sedatives were just another form of control from what he could see.

'Stop your whining and let your owner work,' Ashnael ordered, igniting Rodney's indignation touch paper.

'I am not whining,' he argued, casting the man his filthiest scowl. 'I'm just pointing out that this really isn't necessary. You people are just so used to gaining people's compliance that you don't see how wrong this is.'

'Oh, shut up and assist the man, then you two bleeding-hearts can be out of my sight.'

'Believe me, there's nothing that would give me greater pleasure than to get out of this cess-pit of iniquity –'

Before he had chance to prepare for the assault, Ashnael had him by the shirtfront, slamming him into the wall. 'You dare speak to me like this?'

Rodney couldn't help but see the way Bathraen was gesturing for him to be silent, eyes huge as saucers. And in the end, getting himself beaten up wasn't doing Ronon any favours...

'No...I apologise,' he said more quietly, although he almost choked on the words. After a pause where it looked for all the world like Ashnael would still pummel him to Jell-O, the bully released him, still standing close to him so he had no space to even breathe out of line.

Bathraen got back to his work, reassuring himself that Ronon was healing and infection free before announcing the examination was complete.

'And when will I be able to make use of him,' Ashnael asked, disinterested in the details, just cutting to the chase.

'I recommend at least three more days of sedation, followed by seven days of rest,' the physician advised, packing away everything he'd used. 'I'll check on him again the day after tomorrow.'

'No need for that. I can take care of things from here. Any problems and I'll be sure to call for your services.'

Rodney knew what that meant. It meant Ashnael wanted a piece of Ronon sooner than recommended, and he didn't need one of Bathraen's lectures for doing so.

'You just can't help yourself, can you?' he blurted out before he could even think of the consequences. 'You can't wait to beat the crap out of him, just like you couldn't wait to get those cuffs on him. He's still unconscious for –'

Rodney suddenly found his arms stuck to the walls, his face snapping to the side accompanied by a heavy thudding sound. He didn't realised what had happened until he felt a warm trick running down his chin. The bastard had hit him!

'Stop, Ashnael! Don't strike my servant again.'

Servant! Bathraen hadn't spoken about him like that before, and Rodney suddenly found himself wondering if he'd misjudged the man's benevolence.

'Then teach him some manners and I won't have to,' Ashnael growled. He stood back and twisted something shaped like a pen, aiming it at Rodney before pressing a button on its smooth, black surface.

Expecting more pain, Rodney flinched, but instead found himself freed from the wall.

'Go...both of you...get out of my sight,' Ashnael bellowed, and, catching hold of his arm, Bathraen pulled Rodney back to the front door, where Dezrin was waiting to let them out.

'Take care of yourself, Dezrin,' Bathraen said softly as he passed the young man, gaining a sad smile from the boy.

'I'll do my best, Curan Bathraen,' he replied, but Rodney knew whether he could or not was out of his hands.

The door closed behind them, and Ashnael's house looked just like any other, betraying no sign of the depravity within.

'That guy is a complete psycho...we have to get Ronon out of there...isn't there something you can do?'

The doctor opened up his vehicle and climbed inside, waiting for Rodney to join him. 'I'm afraid not, Dr McKay. The only way to remove a slave from a household is to contest ownership, and you and I both know no other owner will be found.'

'What about challenging his right to own him at all?' Rodney pressed. 'Surely if we prove to the authorities that Ronon was a free man when we arried here, he would have to release him.'

'If it were that simple, do you not think I would have reported all this to the government already?' Bathraen sighed, his head and shoulders sagging. 'The government would simple take your friend away to a life even worse than that he endures at Ashnael's hands.'

'What...why?'

The physician raised his troubled eyes to Rodney's, his brow puckered with worry. 'This is a story best told over a tankard of ale. Let's return home and I will explain it all to you there.'

oooOOOooo

Elizabeth had almost lost hope of making contact with the Haraendon Government, when someone on the planet's surface finally acknowledged Atlantis' hails.

'You have reached the communications office of the government of Haraendon. Please state the nature of your enquiry.'

'Good Afternoon,' Elizabeth began, entwining her fingers in front of her. 'My name is Dr Elizabeth Weir. I'm seeking assistance with a Search and Rescue operation for some members of my personnel who recently crash landed their craft on your planet. I need to gain access to your cities to extend our search, but I believe I need authorisation codes to enter them. Can you assist with this?'

She glanced across at Major Lorne, whose expression was uncharacteristically grim. It didn't look as if he expected her to get the answer he needed, and if she was honest with herself, she didn't expect to either.

The other end of the transmission went dead for a while. Elizabeth supposed that was to be expected considering the nature of her enquiry. This probably wasn't an everyday occurrence on their planet and the member of staff dealing with her enquiry simply might not know how to respond.

After a protracted pause, the voice answered her. 'I'm sorry, could you repeat your request, please.'

Elizabeth sighed. At least this girl had manners, unlike the man Lorne had spoken to earlier. As requested, she repeated her question. 'I'm seeking assistance with a Search and Rescue operation for some members of my personnel who recently crashed their craft on your planet. We believe they may have sought assistance in one of your cities, but I need authorisation codes to enter. Can you assist with this?'

Another hesitation followed, then the young girl spoke again. 'I'm afraid there have been no reports of off-worlders entering any of our cities. I cannot give you authorisation to pass through our gates.'

Elizabeth raised her chin and glared at the fluctuating event horizon as if that itself was challenging her. 'Perhaps you misunderstood me. We have personnel missing on your planet and need to search for them.'

'I do understand that, Dr Weir, but as I explained, we have no record of any off-worlders entering the Centum Civis, and all movements through the city gates are authorised and recorded.'

Elizabeth brushed a stray lock of hair back from her forehead, then folded her arms across herself, rapidly thinking through her best approach. This girl was only doing her job, and according to her world's rules she was doing the right thing, but she needed to get past her. There had to be a way to convince the government to let them search within the cities.

'My people were coming to your planet in the hopes of setting up trade links between our races. Perhaps I could meet with your leader to discuss this along with my missing team,' she queried, hoping the bribery would make it seem worth their while.

Once again, the girl asked her to hold for a while, and the communication channel went silent. 'Anyone else get the feeling we're not wanted there?' Elizabeth asked. This reticence to allow them through the gates of even one city to discuss the problem face to face with someone had her seriously concerned. Was some kind of cover-up underway?

'I think it would be wise to start thinking about an alternative means of gaining entrance into the cities. Perhaps if we could find some way to –'

Lorne's proposal was cut short by the girl's voice. 'I can arrange a meeting for you with our trade minister if you wish to discuss such matters, Dr Weir.'

Elizabeth was about to launch into another explanation of what they were actually trying to do when Lorne signalled for Chuck to give them radio silence for a moment.

'I know the Trade Minister isn't exactly who we want to see, Ma'am, but I get the impression these people are pretty resistant to the idea of us searching for our people. At least taking this approach would get us inside the city and then we can try to force them to listen to our requests for assistance with the search.'

He was right. This was a way in at least, and from there they might be able to force the other issue to the attention of whoever was in charge down on that planet. From what the major had told her of life on Haraendon – the vast levels of electro-magnetism in certain areas and the city shields guarding the Centum Civis – beaming Sheppard's team out using the Daedalus when it arrived in the vicinity of the planet in ten days time was going to be tricky at best. That was unless they happened to be wandering in the lands outside the cities and away from the EM fields where their transponder signals could be traced clearly. But if they were out there, why hadn't they gone to the Stargate? Lorne was right; this was an opportunity she couldn't waste. She nodded, signalling for Chuck to open up the channel, which he did.

'Yes, a meeting with your trade minister would be acceptable. How do we go about that?'

'I can arrange that now, Dr Weir. How many people will be in your party?'

Elizabeth looked around at Lorne, who nodded his agreement that he and his team would go with her, then Zelenka, who was also anxiously awaiting the outcome of her conversation, also volunteered himself for the mission.

'Six,' she replied. 'There will be six of us.'

'All right. I'm sending through the authorisation code to give six of your people access to our city, and a map of the planet showing the location of Uno and of the government buildings once you are inside. You will be escorted from the gates directly to your meeting and you are not permitted to deviate from that course. Is that understood?'

Though she didn't like the sound of that, Elizabeth agreed because it was what she needed to do to get through their security. 'Understood.'

'I'm sending the information now. Please ensure you remain near the gate until your escort makes themselves known to you.'

'Yes...we will,' Elizabeth assured the woman, then once again the channel fell silent.

'Receiving incoming data transfer.' Chuck uploaded what the girl from PX3 991 was sending to them, and Zelenka translated it into something they could all understand. 'They're in the Western most city. Uno...One. I imagine the cities are numbered from west to east in ascending order –'

'Well, I suppose we can confirm all that once we get into Uno,' Elizabeth interrupted, bringing the scientist back on track. 'Now, I think we should get everything we need for this mission gathered together and we'll rendezvous at Jumper Two in thirty minutes.'

'Yes, Ma'am,' Lorne agreed, clapping a hand on Zelenka's shoulder and steering the doctor away.

Elizabeth headed up the stairs to her office and took a moment or two to gather herself. There wasn't much she needed to take as such, just her wits, but she was glad to have a few moments alone to come to terms with things. There was something going on down on that planet, and she had the feeling that whether or not they found Sheppard and his team rested squarely on her shoulders. If she screwed up these negotiations, the government would close ranks and they would be denied access to the other cities.

Smoothing down her hair, she pulled on her jacket, zipping it up to the collar. She was in control. She could do this.

She had to do this.

oooOOOooo

Polishing a ship inside and out wasn't an easy job when you had to do it one-handed, Sheppard had discovered. He'd headed up to his room to change into more suitable work clothing straight after his encounter with Curan Rabbrine, and had then headed back down to the hangar out of the way of everyone else, where he figured he couldn't get into any more trouble. Ever since then he'd been scrubbing and polishing and buffing like fury...partly to relieve his own frustration as much as needing to fulfil his duties.

Of course, that hadn't stopped him checking out the ramp to the outside now he knew where it was concealed – he'd even found the panel covering the controls – but no amount of coaxing or prising had forced the damn thing off. So close to freedom...but he just couldn't reach it.

He swiped at the sweat on his forehead, hating how damp and dirty he felt again. Raelzine had been right about the craft being grubby after their trip to market; he'd been so preoccupied with Magistra Tranaedan's flirtations that he hadn't even noticed. And now he was filthy, too. Filthy and sore and mad as all hell.

When the hangar doors opened, he didn't even bother to check who was coming. Whoever it was could just go shove themselves where the sun didn't –

'Jadrael, I thought you might like some more food,' Lanae said quietly, standing just behind him.

Okay, he admitted to himself, of all the people it could have been coming to pester him, Lanae was the least offensive.

'Is it that time already?' he asked, straightening out the kinks in his back.

'It is. You've been hard at work down here and the time has escaped you.'

'Well, at least something managed to escape,' he quipped, and she immediately dropped her eyes to the floor. 'I'm sorry...I know...that kind of talk could get me into trouble.'

'Here, take this.' She lifted the cloth covering the plate she carried, revealing some true delights beneath it.

'Wow. Is it my birthday?' he joked, taking the plate and tucking straight in to something that looked like slices of beef, medium rare. Tasted like it, too.

'The Tranaedans are entertaining friends. Food is always plentiful and we are allowed to pick through what is left over before the remainder is passed to the afflicted.'

He raised his eyes to hers, shoving his food into his cheek so he could speak. 'The afflicted? Who're they?'

'They live in sealed townships outside of the city. They're...not like us,' she said tentatively, then whispered, 'I've never seen them, but I hear they have bright red eyes.'

Sheppard froze for a moment, images from his earlier dream flashing through his mind. 'Really? That's weird,' he said, continuing to examine his plate.

'But I'm sure it's just a tale told to frighten us as children.'

'Yeah...that's probably it.'

'There are even stories of huge monsters in the lands between the cities...I pay them no heed, of course.'

Sheppard smiled at the light the stories brought to her eyes. This was the most animated he'd seen the girl since meeting her. Apparently, she enjoyed a good chat if given the opportunity. 'So you don't believe in monsters, huh?' he asked, pleased that something in her life was simple.

'Well, I believe in the Wraith, and I suppose they would be classed as monsters, but they never come here.'

Interest piqued, he dug for more details. 'You've never been culled here?'

'Culled?'

The word was clearly unknown to her...a rarity in the Pegasus Galaxy. But if the same thing that had brought their craft down had affected Wraith darts scouting ahead of a hive ship, perhaps they had decided to give the planet a wide berth. That certainly explained how they had built up such a thriving and advanced society. Well, thriving and advanced if you were in the upper echelons, at least.

'Never mind,' he smiled, getting on with his meal. 'It's not important.'

'Well, I should probably get back to the kitchens. Raelzine doesn't know I brought this to you. She thinks I'm eating more because I'm growing.'

'Ahhh, well, you'd better get going before she finds out you're down here,' he warned, faking a sombre look. 'I don't think Raelzine approves of me.'

'She just takes a little bit of time to get to know people, that's all. She'll warm to you eventually,' Lanae promised as she disappeared through the hangar door. Sheppard wasn't so sure.

Alone again, he demolished the plateful of food in record time even for him. He hadn't realised how hungry he was until he started eating, he'd been too wrapped up in his sense of injustice to notice. But since he had to have been working for at least five hours by his estimation, he supposed that explained why he'd built up such an appetite.

His arm pulsed violently now that he wasn't distracted by his labours. He could feel the bulge beneath the dressing where the wound had swollen around the chip Curan Rabbrine had implanted in him. He wanted to rip his arm open and pull the damn thing out, but he'd only have to go through the whole implantation process again. This was one screwed up household and for the time being, it looked like he was stuck there.

He'd been busy with his work for a while when he heard the hangar door open again. This time, the noise was accompanied by a melodious giggling sound from a voice he recognised as Magistra Tranaedan's, along with another woman's laughter – and they sounded drunk. Crap. That wasn't good.

He thought about hiding and slipping out of there, but before he could put his plan into action, Magistra Tranaedan called out to him. 'Where are you, Jadrael? I know you're in here somewhere because I've tracked you here.'

_Oh, yeah. The chip!_ Figuring he had no choice, he stepped out into the open next to her craft, then remembered he should get down on one knee if she entered a room after him. He did it, bowing his head in the hope his good behaviour would soon have her back on her way to her dinner party.

A hand caught his chin and tilted his head up, yet it wasn't Magistra Tranaedan's face he found himself looking into, but her companion's.

'Well, I know you said he was adorable...but I had no idea how adorable you meant.'

'Stand up, Jadrael. Let Magistra Callaedin get a proper look at you.'

He did as ordered, glad to change position and get the woman's hand away from him. They stood together before him, painted up, hair primped, and in their dresses that left little to the imagination since they clung so tightly, and he felt like he was in some kind of crazy red-light district where the hookers forced men to pick them up even if they just wanted to get home and sleep...and he really did just need to sleep now.

'Oh yes,' Magistra Callaedin said, her eyes alight with something he chose to identify as admiration. 'He's certainly a fine purchase. How much did he cost?'

'Five thousand tallots,' Magistra Tranaedan replied, matter-of-fact.

'Five thousand? Hmmm, it's a little rich, but I can understand why.'

Deciding he'd had enough of their chit-chat, Sheppard said, 'Excuse me, Magistras, but I still have a little work to do here. Would you mind if I get finished?'

'What an unusual accent. Where did he come from?' Magistra Callaedin asked.

Now, that was a problem he hadn't anticipated. Magistra Tranaedan might want him to lie about his history prior to coming to her home, but he couldn't change the way he spoke.

'He's from the Hadresine household. They were in one of the Eastern most enclosures of Centum Civis. I believe they all speak that way out there.'

Oh, she was smooth...clearly an adept liar. Still, if it took the heat off him and meant he didn't get into trouble for giving her game away, he was thankful for her talent.

'So, can I get back to work now,' he asked again, tired of waiting for an answer.

'Actually, we want you to take us out on a flight,' Magistra Tranaedan told him.

His jaw dropped, and he realised he was glaring, which couldn't be good for his health. So he forced on a smile to cover his annoyance. 'I've almost finished cleaning the craft, Magistra Tranaedan...'

'And you can clean it again when we return.'

Now he knew the glare had returned, and this time, he didn't care. The other woman began to laugh again.

'Why, Magistra Tranaedan. I do believe he's angry with us. I've always wanted a slave with a sense of rebellion. They're so much more fun to mould.'

'Well, I'm afraid I found him first,' the magistra smiled back at her. Then she turned to Sheppard and, hardening her gaze, said, 'Now, shall we begin that flight?'

He realised then that this was probably her way of paying him back. He'd broken the rules earlier, so now, with his work for the day almost finished, she was going to make him do it all again. Okay, fine. If that was the way she wanted to play it, he could deal with another late night. The way his arm was hurting probably meant he wasn't going to sleep that well anyway. Although being alone with two drunken women enclosed on a small transport ship didn't bode well...unless the quieter streets presented him with the opportunity to slip away he'd been looking for. Right now, even though he didn't know where his friends were and that little voice was saying it was "dangerous" and "a bad time", he figured with a craft and a head start he could make it over the walls and to the Stargate before that chip in his arm was any use to anyone. At least he could lead the Atlantis search and rescue team to their last known location and hopefully drag some answers out of Ashnael then.

'Help us aboard,' Magistra Tranaedan ordered, and, after one final filthy look to let her know just how unimpressed he was, something that helpfully covered the plot now brewing in his mind, he jumped on board, offering his hand to Magistra Callaedin first, then to his frustrating owner.

Once they were aboard, they settled into the seats beside him and he took up position behind the controls, waiting for Magistra Tranaedan to activate the exit ramp.

As it lowered, revealing the now darkened skies beyond, he set the craft in motion, sweeping them up and out into the darkened streets of Traginta Duo and the promise of freedom that now beckoned to him.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Thanks to all those of you still reading and reviewing. Your comments are much appreciated as always. Please keep the feedback coming. :)**

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**Chapter 10 **

'Take us north to the parklands,' Magistra Tranaedan ordered Sheppard, and he checked the instruments, letting navigation show him the direction to head in. The streets were almost completely clear now, just the occasional transport passing them as they travelled. Apparently, Traginta Duo didn't enjoy much of a nightlife. Sometimes, the occasional shadowy figure moved in the periphery of his vision, but darted out of sight when he tried to get a better look, disturbed by the noise of their craft.

Beside him, the two women twittered together about how well he handled the ship...how it was clear he was experienced – heavy emphasis on the word "experience", of course. So double entendres had made it to the Pegasus Galaxy? There were some drawbacks to "advanced" societies after all.

Sheppard took the opportunity to strengthen his memory of the layout of the roads, figuring out the quickest way to the city's walls. Now he had an escape route plotted without wasting time blundering around lost...although that didn't change the fact they could probably track him before he got far without a transporter. So this had to be his chance. Two drunken women in a transporter suddenly didn't seem all that bad...if he could get that control for his cuffs off of Magistra Tranaedan.

The streets were then behind them and they were into a clearer area...parkland planted out with trees and shrubs and neatly clipped grass areas.

'Set us down, Jadrael.'

Though thinking the word "please" wouldn't go amiss once in a while, he did as he was told, setting the craft down on a large flat area of grass amid a circle of trees. Then, jumping out, he loaned his assistance to Magistra Callaedin again, giving her his hand to help her step down to solid ground. Magistra Tranaedan, however, clearly expected a more physical intervention in her descent. She stood in the hatchway, both arms extended like some overgrown toddler scared to get down from the top of the climbing frame. Except this particular toddler had a distinctly lascivious glint in her eyes as she waited for him to lift her out, and he didn't feel inclined to satisfy her. He recalled Raelzine's warning that he should behave in an appropriate way, simply jabbing his hand in her direction more firmly as a sign that was all the help she was going to get from him.

Eventually, she relented, taking hold of his hand and stepping down, her blue eyes fixed on him the whole time and warning him that he was being a bad boy yet again. Yeah well, he could deal with her disapproval for a little while. It wasn't as if he hadn't faced that kind of thing before. They were off the ship now...so maybe the magnetised cuffs didn't work if you put a solid transporter door between you and the control. Now that sounded like a plan.

'Ah, I love the opportunity to take in the fresh air and admire the stars,' Magistra Tranaedan breathed, gazing up into the night sky.

Sheppard looked up too, seeing a strange rainbow effect ripple above them.

'Where you can see them through the shield!' Magistra Callaedin scoffed, brushing the creases from her skirts. 'And it's cold out here. Honestly, Alethael, if we wanted privacy, we should have gone back to a tavern and booked a room –'

'What shield?' Sheppard automatically responded, forgetting it wasn't his place to ask.

Magistra Tranaedan flashed him an angry look, but the other woman just giggled, wrapping her arms around herself for warmth. 'What are the owners in the eastern most cities like if they don't have to warn naughty little pilot slaves like you about the dangers of trying to fly through the shield?'

'The shield keeps everyone from Traginta Duo in, and everything from outside of the city's confines out,' Magistra Tranaedan elucidated. 'Every city on the planet has one. The only way in and out of any of the enclosures of the Centum Civis is through the three main gates...and to go through those you need evidence of government permissions. Nothing can pass through that shield. If you try to fly through it, the craft cuts out and you fall.'

His heart sinking at that news, Sheppard suddenly realised just how increasingly desperate his situation was. He was trapped in this city, one of one hundred, with a transponder that was most likely useless because of the shield, an ownership chip that meant he could be rounded up within minutes of escape, and no chance of gaining the clearances required to get out of the gates, even if he were to break free of his "owners". Not only that, but he still had no idea where to find his friends and any rescue teams from Atlantis would struggle to gain access to the cities to make an effective search. Things were not looking good.

'And we can't possibly book a room in a tavern, Magistra Callaedan. My husband isn't as forgiving as yours about such matters. That's why we're out here. This really is a rare treat for us, Jadrael,' Magistra Tranaedan told him, admiring the views again. 'We hardly ever venture out at night...the streets are considered dangerous after dark.'

He stared at her in disbelief, wondering why the hell she'd thought tonight was a good time to chance her luck if that were the case, then realising it most likely had something to do with her intentions for him – something that couldn't be done under the same roof as her husband. It was unnervingly quiet out in those parklands...and a little eerie with the erratic colours from the shield flitting across the scenery. In his experience, it was when things were at their quietest that the crap usually hit the fan.

Then, from the corner of his eye. he thought he saw movement. When he snapped his head round in that direction there was nothing to be seen. Nerves, he guessed. And tiredness. He yawned, shielding it from the women. He didn't need them to know he was flagging. Now if he could just get on the other side of them to sneak aboard the ship before they set off his cuffs...

'You must have been a very loyal slave not to try to run away from your previous household,' Magistra Callaedin cooed, joining him and rubbing a finger up and down his arm. 'What preferential treatment did they give you that meant you stayed even without knowledge of the shield?'

He folded his arms and refused to comment, even though the movement hurt his injured arm. She quirked an eyebrow, apparently amused with his minor attempt at insubordination. And she had every right to find him laughable...he was pretty much just standing there and taking their crap, held there by the threat of punishment that it seemed he was unlikely to escape and his crushing inability to conjure up one of his daring escape plans...yet.

'I heard his household were too soft with their slaves. They actually allowed them to address them by their forenames,' Magistra Tranaedan lied to give her story more merit.

As her friend slipped an arm around his waist, Sheppard just sighed and looked away, feigning indifference even though his stomach was now moving into fast spin. Then, once again, he thought he saw movement in the trees, and this time he knew he really had seen it.

Suddenly, his sense of imminent attack bristling, his idea of getting just himself on the craft changed to one that involved getting them all in there. 'If you're cold, perhaps we should get back into the transport,' he said, trying to edge that way and steer Magistra Callaedin with him. 'I can soon have us all back to the house where you can thaw out again.'

'Can't you think of some other way to warm me up?' the woman asked, her grip on him tightening insistently. He tried to push her hands away now, all the time watching those shadows between the trees. This really wasn't the time or the place. Didn't she get that?

Apparently not, and she was having none of his refusal. From a concealed pocket in her skirts, she pulled a device he recognised only too well, and in the next moment he found his cuffs slamming back into the metal hull of the vessel, clamping him to it.

'You really do need to teach this young man a thing or two about obedience,' Magistra Callaedin called over to Magistra Tranaedan, who maintained a watchful distance, nodding.

'Yes, he does require some breaking in,' she agreed, her smirk widening as her companion now closed in on him. 'Care to help, Magistra?'

'How could I refuse?' The woman snaked a hand up the back of his neck and grasped a handful of his black locks, pulling his head back as she ran her eyes over his face. 'He really is very pretty, though. It seems a shame to hurt him.'

'You don't have to harm his face. There's plenty more of him to work on,' Tranaedan dared her. 'Just use your imagination.'

Sheppard swallowed hard as her hand slid up inside his vest, fingers sliding over his stomach and exploring the contours of his muscles. 'Oh, I don't know if I should do that. My imagination knows no bounds.'

He could feel her hot, short breaths on his neck and strained his face away from her. She smelled as if she's been marinated in alcohol, something he'd always found unattractive, particularly when someone was hitting on him. Alcohol made people lose their inhibitions, gave them an imagined free pass to do things they wouldn't when not so inebriated. He hoped pointing that out might dampen her ardour.

'I'm filthy from cleaning the ship. I don't think Magister Callaedin is going to be impressed if you turn up all damp and dirty,' he said, trying to press himself further back against the transport to increase the space between them.

She just closed it up again, pressing her body against his. 'I doubt he'd even give it a thought...now, you're not trying to defy me are you?' She caught hold of his face, twisting it toward her. 'I really don't like it when slaves rebuff me. It's most disrespectful.'

Magistra Tranaedan took that line as some kind of cue, levering herself back aboard the craft and then leaning out of the hatch beside where Sheppard was pinned and handing something to her friend. Great. The cattle prod. Now his misery was complete.

'Ahh, wonderful! No lesson in deference is complete without one!' Magistra Callaedin grinned. She stepped back, extending the shaft, and Sheppard immediately felt a static charge crackle in the air between them.

He pulled harder against his restraints, but to no avail. 'We really should get back on the ship,' he urged, but his suggestion fell on deaf ears.

'Sometimes, when slaves are particularly unruly, it becomes necessary to give them a short sharp shock to set them in their place,' she drawled, lifting his vest and jabbing the end of the weapon into his stomach.

His muscles reflexively contracted, his body shaking as his jaws clamped and his head thudded against the hull behind him. She held him like that for what felt like an age, but was probably no more than a few seconds, before cutting the current. He slumped, hanging suspended by the cuffs that now burned against his wrists, his legs useless and his chest aching from the current.

She caught hold of his face again, lifting his sagging head. 'Such an adorable mouth. May I, Magistra Tranaedan?'

He heard his owner jump down to ground level again...felt her closing in on him now, too. 'By all means. I'm sure Jadrael won't say no.'

Before he could reiterate the need for them to leave the woman's lips pressed hard on his, the taste laden with waxy lipstick and liquor. When her tongue flickered against his he jerked back, breaking the exchange.

'Oh dear. Apparently he still thinks he has a say in this matter,' Magistra Callaedin sneered, twisting on the cattle prod again and thrusting in into his stomach.

He screamed out through gritted teeth, his cries echoing away into the engulfing darkness as pain ripped through him, ravaging his already aching body. And he'd thought Magistra Tranaedan was the one he had to worry about.

She removed the charge and he slumped again, feeling the electricity wriggling its way out of him through his extremities, his wrists burning hot beneath the metal cuffs that had taken the brunt of the charge.

He really didn't want her to do that again. She lifted his head and kissed him once more, and this time he let her, figuring it was the lesser of two evils. Her kiss, as with the second shock, lingered, taking forever to end.

When she drew back, he saw a kind of feverish excitement burning in her eyes and suspected giving ground might have been the wrong way to go after all. If he'd given her that much, she might be thinking she could push him further, and apparently, he realised as he straightened up and she pressed in against him again, she wasn't satisfied with what he'd done so far.

'I'm terribly jealous, Alethael. He really is absolutely delectable,' she gushed, raking her fingers back through his hair. 'Galzin will be furious with you when he sees him.'

'He has no reason to be. I bought his to fill the vacancy in our household, and you saw yourself that he's a good pilot. The fact he is so desirable is purely luck.' She approached them and stroked the side of his face, wiping a little of the cold sweat from his skin. 'But he does have an excess of spirit...I hope he learns to rein it in for his own sake, because that is one thing my husband definitely will not approve of.'

He was just regaining his strength when Magistra Callaedin lifted the metal staff between them again, adjusting it before setting the power loose this time. 'I heard recently that, if set to the right current, a kiss can be made more stimulating with one of these,' she purred, her eyes burning into his. 'I think I'll try it.'

His groan of 'No!' was lost against her mouth as she saw her threat through, the pain less excruciating, but his humiliation intensely acute. The more he refused, the more they degraded him. Silence was his only defence, and that felt more like compliance than resistance. To these women, he was nothing more than a piece of flesh to toy with as they would. His wishes didn't come into their consideration at all.

A squeal from Magistra Tranaedan suddenly interrupted Magistra Callaedin's fun, and she jerked back, screaming herself now. It took a few moments for Sheppard to understand what was going on, then he realised whoever had been skulking in the trees had chosen to pounce, dragging Magistra Callaedin to the ground by her hair.

'You want to have fun...well let's have fun!' the male voice rasped through a mask covering the lower half of his face, obscuring his identity.

'How dare you!' Magistra Tranaedan screeched, ducking and squealing again as the assailant fired a shot at her, one that only just missed Sheppard where he was pinned.

'Free me!' the colonel yelled, hearing the fabric of Magistra Callaedin's clothing tear as she screamed out again.

The other woman sat trembling, clearly in shock from her near miss, but when Magistra Callaedin's cries grew more distressed, Sheppard yelled to her again and this time she responded. The pressure on his wrists alleviated and he launched himself with all the strength he had left, bowling into the attacker and knocking him clear of his victim. He punched the guy sharply in the face, just once, but it was enough to stun him into dropping his weapon, which Sheppard snatched from the ground and held him at the point of while sitting on him to keep him pinned to the ground.

'What's the matter with you?' the mystery man complained bitterly. 'I was helping you.'

'I think you were about to help yourself,' Sheppard pointed out. 'Couldn't let you do that, buddy.'

An unexpected jolt of pain in the colonel's back had him arching and he toppled sideways off the man trapped beneath him. Then he heard the other man beg for mercy, a cry cut short when a blast of blue energy ended his life.

Sheppard rolled onto his knees, gasping for breath as he crawled back to the man, feeling for a pulse. Nothing – not that he'd expected there to be. 'Why the hell did you do that?' he demanded. 'I had the situation under control.'

'He's probably some escaped slave scum...What I did was kinder than what the government would have done if they'd rounded him up,' Magistra Tranaedan told him.

'And that makes it all right?'

'Don't judge me, Jadrael,' she growled, now brandishing the cattle prod he'd grown so familiar with in his direction.

He staggered to his feet, still trembling from the after effects of the shock. 'Why not? He tried to help me and now he's dead.'

'You saw what he tried to do –'

'Yeah...and it was no worse than what you and your friend over there had in mind for me!'

She jabbed him in the side with her weapon, buckling his legs and sending him crumpling to the floor again. The jolt hurt, but was short-lived in its violence. He lifted his head and panted out, 'I saved her...and this is how you repay me?'

'When you learn not to expect more, you'll forget how to be disappointed,' was her blunt response. 'Now get back on that ship and take us home.'

She walked away and gathered up her sobbing friend in her arms, speaking quietly to her as she rubbed her arms to bring her comfort. Apparently, she had a heart after all...but only if you had enough money to buy it.

Sheppard looked over at the body lying beside him, the fatal wound in the chest still smouldering in the cold night air. He wondered what the man's story was...if he was a slave who had perhaps been treated the same way these women had treated him and so had felt compelled to help. He cursed his propensity to try to save everyone; these women clearly didn't deserve his help.

He sent up a silent thanks to whoever might be listening for the man's intervention, then pushed his aching bag of bones to its feet, ready to make the flight home.

oooOOOooo

After spending the better part of a day now with the people in the enclosure, Teyla had become accustomed to their unusual looks, finding them to be kind and generous souls, more than willing to share what little they had with her.

She'd learned that she had arrived in the enclosure in a food truck that travelled underground from the nearest city on an old mechanical system that required no electronics to power it. It seemed antiquated compared to the city she had seen through the three gates of Traginta Duo, but it served its purpose, once a day bringing the leftovers of that city into this township to feed the desperate population. Unfortunately, the fact she had filled one of the carriages meant they had received less food yesterday evening than they needed, but they bore no malice toward her, offering what they had to her first that morning when it was shared out for the day.

She had tried to refuse, but the older woman, who had taken her under her wing, had insisted she have a fair portion. In truth, she had a terrible headache and a bubbling nausea at the pit of her stomach, so the food looked hugely unappetising. She had struggled to eat anything at breakfast, although she knew the time might come when she would view even these distasteful cast offs a veritable feast, no matter how ill she felt.

She supposed sending her to this place, a town full of outcasts apparently sealed in with no hope of escape, had been Bathraen's idea, a way of making her disappear without killing her, since he had seemed troubled by the idea when Ashnael had suggested it. But it still felt as if she had been cast out with the city's rubbish, thrown away like the unwanted food from wealthier tables. The only thing she didn't understand was why the city's inhabitants were so keen to keep the people in this township alive. They were so repulsed by them that they hemmed them in behind towering walls with no breeches. Why feed them and ensure their survival? If they despised them so much, why hadn't they killed them outright?

'Have your people always lived this way, Sangaela?' she asked the woman, thanking her with a respectful dip of the head as she handed her a wooden bowl of water. Teyla could taste a metallic taint to the liquid, but had little choice other than to drink it. There was nothing else for anyone in the enclosure to drink.

The woman nodded, sitting on the rug that covered her hard wooden floor. 'It has been this way for at least a century now. We live here and are completely reliant on the people in the nearby cities for all our food, clothing...the luxuries you see around us.'

Teyla would never have described what these people had as luxuries, but could not voice that to her newfound friend. She had no wish to disrespect her lifestyle.

'Why are you shut away from them? You are peaceful, kind people. Surely their society could only benefit from your inclusion in it?'

'They see us as a threat...because of our differences.'

'It is sad that they cannot see beyond the outside to find what lies within you. You are all good people,' Teyla sighed, knowing this was an all too familiar story.

'But that is the problem...it is what lies beneath our surface that they fear the most.'

Puzzled, Teyla wondered what she meant. Having spent a day with these people, she had seen nothing unusual, other than their colouring, and certainly nothing that evoked a sense of fear in her. These were generous, warm-hearted people, willing to share what they had when there was barely enough to go around. She saw only goodness and caring, positive qualities any world would benefit from.

Sangaela looked suddenly ashamed, unable to raise her eyes now as she fiddled with the hem of her clothing. 'There are things about us that you do not yet know...things that set us apart from other inhabitants of this world. That is why they shut us away.'

'Is it the sickness I see among your people?' she asked, thinking she at last understood. There were indeed many in the enclosure who were gravely ill. She had spent her time today helping to tend them and entertaining the children of those who were too weak to do it themselves. 'When my people come for me, I am sure they will be more than willing to help with any treatments you might need. If we get you well, will they accept you?'

The woman kept her head low, shaking it as she sighed deeply. 'If the sickness were our main difference, we could possibly surmount it. But there is something more...something that terrifies them.'

'What can possibly be so terrible?' Teyla asked, her heart aching for Sangaela. No one should be made to feel ashamed of what they were, or be cut off from the larger world and mistreated this way.

Now, Sangaela finally raised her head, her despair etched deeply into her reddened skin. 'If you really wish to know what makes us different, I will show you,' she said, holding out a hand toward her.

Frowning, Teyla reached out and grasped Sangaela's slim hand – and then she understood.

Images strobed through her mind, flashes of people she knew and cared about. Some images were good, scenes from Atlantis...of the friends she had made there. But these gave way to other images and sensations, feelings of pain, suffering and futility that threatened to completely overwhelm her. She saw John and Ronon suffering, their pain clouding the images. Their anger and frustration pounded through her own veins with every beat of her heart, the colonel's agonised screams echoing through her mind until she was forced to tear her hand free just so she could breathe again.

When she had calmed enough to speak, she asked, 'What was it that you showed me?'

'The future,' Sangaela said simply, watching her.

Teyla pressed her hand to her chest, feeling her heart still racing beneath her palm. 'My friends...what will happen to them?'

'The people of Traginta Duo are cruel. Your friends with suffer their wrath.'

Emotions whirling, Teyla rushed out of Sangaela's humble home, out onto the filthy dirt track that wound between their broken houses. She looked up to the sky, the only freedom to be had within those towering walls.

Sangaela followed her out, and very gently laid her hand on Teyla's shoulder.

'I cannot get to them...I cannot help them...' Teyla choked, trying to stay calm.

'No...but I feel they will eventually prevail.'

'I cannot simply sit here and wait for rescue, knowing what my friends are enduring.'

'They do not endure all this now...some is yet to come.'

Her choice of words reminded Teyla of what Sangaela had said when she had first woken among them. 'When I spoke of my friends yesterday, you said, "He has come". What did you mean?'

Again, sadness crept into Sangaela's expression as she gazed upon Teyla, but at the same time, the Athosian now sensed a greater wisdom than she had realised the woman possessed. 'We have known of your pilot for a while now. Naranthael has foretold of his arrival for many moons.'

'Naranthael?'

'He is one of ours held captive within Traginta Duo...a sensory. He foresaw your friend's arrival and the difference he can make to us.'

Rubbing her furrowed brow, Teyla tried to make sense of what she was hearing. She was tired, sick, a little hungry, and desperate to be reunited with her teammates, and now it seemed their rescue would come only after things had got much worse for them. 'I'm sorry...I do not understand...how can this Naranthael have known he would come?'

'Because he brought you here...he knew your people could make a change...and it begins with the suffering of your pilot friend.'

Her throat seizing, Teyla could neither ask nor listen to any more. All she could do was hope that what this Naranthael had seen was wrong, and Atlantis would extract them before what she had seen came to pass.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Thanks again for all your support and reviews. I'm still frantically trying to finish this piece, so the encouragement keeps me going. :)**

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****Chapter 11 **

Nursing his swollen lip with an ice pack, Rodney watched Bathraen dart about his kitchen preparing the evening meal. The man certainly knew his way around the kitchen, and he'd soon whipped up a veritable feast for them to enjoy.

He set various plates laden with different dishes in the centre of his rectangular metal table, then handed Rodney an empty plate and told him to help himself to whatever he wanted. As usual he was famished, but the food just didn't appeal, not helped by the fact Bathraen had insisted on making their evening meal before discussing the issues burning in Rodney's mind since their meeting with Ashnael earlier that day.

When his companion finally seated himself at the table with him, Rodney could contain his questions no longer. 'So...I think I've been patient enough, don't you?'

'Yes...yes, you have,' Bathraen agreed, picking up a few items from the spread and then pouring them both a drink. 'I'll try to keep this as simple as possible.'

'No, please don't. I think I'm smart enough to cope with the details,' McKay snapped, insulted by the suggestion.

'Very well,' the doctor nodded, chewing thoughtfully on a mouthful of bread he had just torn away from a baton shaped loaf. 'I will give you all the information I know, although I confess I do not understand all the machinations of our government.'

'Who ever does?' Rodney muttered, taking a sip from his cup. It was some form of wine from the taste of the contents, and not bad either. He figured it might be best not to drink any more of it until he had his head wrapped around what Bathraen was about to tell him, though. He wasn't exactly renowned for the ability to hold his drink.

'Around seven of our years ago, something happened to our population. At first, we didn't realise the problem was so serious, because communication between the cities is limited, but I had noticed a slight increase in the number of couples approaching me for help because they were having trouble conceiving. It was only after a year of complaints from my patients and those of other physicians across Traginta Duo, that we finally forced our government to reveal that this problem was also being reported throughout the Centum Civis. We have never been able to identify the source of the problem, but the best guess of our government's top scientists is that some kind of virus entered our water supply or was carried on the air, the after effects of which left our population effectively sterilised.'

'So, no one on your planet can have kids?'

'Not exactly. While the vast majority of our population have been affected by this...sickness...there are some, but only a few, who are still fertile. Most of them are under government care, those in the sub classes, but those in the upper classes and perhaps a few others who have been missed in our checks remain free.'

Rodney frowned at him as he finished chewing his food. 'So this government care is some kind of investigation, right? I'm thinking those people not affected might hold the key to a cure.'

Bathraen wagged a finger his way. 'Exactly our thoughts. So, the government gathered up as many people who tested unaffected as they could and took them all under their supervision. They ran tests, hundreds of tests, and even after all that, they couldn't find a solution.'

'So, you've had almost no kids born on this planet for seven years?' Rodney clarified. He wasn't a doctor of medicine, and he didn't pretend to know everything about ecology, but he imagined that if that kind of problem persisted for a generation, it could have a catastrophic effect on the planet's ability to repopulate.

'Almost none, yes.' He swallowed hard, as if what he had to say next was causing a lump in his throat. 'After they'd completed their experiments, the government decided the only thing they could do was keep those slaves who were still fertile in their clinics and begin a structured breeding programme, handing out the healthiest stock to be brought up by the wealthier classes as their own.' He shook his head, and Rodney thought he could see tears threatening to spill. 'The lives of those poor souls in the programme amount to nought now. They are just a production line for the future generations of both the wealthy and our slaves...way for the government to fill their coffers. I could not work with them any more...and since then, I have never alerted them to a single person I have discovered to still be fertile.'

'I get that...I really do...and I feel for your people, but what does this have to do with...' The penny suddenly dropped. They couldn't go to the government with the news of what Ashnael had done, because they would draft Ronon into the breeding programme. 'Oh...oh, right.'

'As you now understand. We cannot approach the government to help you free your friends. They are not above using off-worlders as a means to save our people. We have to come up with another strategy...perhaps some way to bring your people to the city to free them.'

Rodney nodded, his brain beginning to tick over with possible ways to draw their rescue teams to this city, but then his brain threw him a curve ball, something else entirely choosing to surface in his memory. 'Wait a minute...what did Ashnael mean when he said Sheppard's new owner really wanted an _off-world_ pilot? Is this why?'

Bathraen set down his cutlery and took a deep drink of his wine. Then he finally met Rodney's gaze and nodded. 'I'm afraid so. Magistra Tranaedan is one of the few wealthy unaffected by the sickness ravaging our society. She must be seeking to have a child...though why I have no idea. She's never struck me as the maternal type, and she's not as young as she once was. Unless... '

'Unless what?' Rodney demanded.

'Her life is not entirely a happy one, I hear. Her husband is a jealous man...controlling. Perhaps she feels this would be an escape for her. A wealthy woman who could bear children would be a coveted prize indeed in the Centum Civis. Many great men would seek to possess her. Magister Tranaedan might not be willing to release her from their marriage, but a fight for her hand that left Tranaedan dead would free her from her vows to him.'

'But she can't make Sheppard do that for her, right? I mean...a man has to be willing before...those things happen.'

'It's not always as simple as that, Dr McKay. Magistra Tranaedan has her ways...some cruel, some not...and she will definitely have a plan. She always has a plan.'

Bathraen seemed to drift from the conversation then, his mind far from that table. Maybe the good doctor had had dealings with this woman. Maybe they'd been "familiar" once themselves. If so, then Bathraen knew what she was like, and it didn't seem like he was very impressed with her.

'Is she pretty?' Rodney asked.

Bathraen blinked at him, his mind returning to the here and now. 'Pretty? I suppose...once...but she is a little old to be described that way now. Still beautiful on the outside, yes, but it doesn't mask the darkness that lurks within her. She will stop at nothing to get what she wants.'

'Oh crap!' Suddenly, Sheppard's situation appeared worse now than Ronon's. Rodney was suddenly torn about who to fret over the most.

'But in truth, it isn't Magistra Tranaedan your friend needs to fear. She will most likely cajole, manipulate and coax him until he feels fulfilling her whims will make him happy. He'll feel no shame or regret. But her husband...now he's a completely different story. If he catches your friend involved in any inappropriate activities with his wife...' Bathraen closed his eyes and his body shuddered, but he didn't finish his sentence.

Rodney was left wondering what the man had seen to make him react so violently to his memories. Whatever it was couldn't have been good if he couldn't even find the words to talk about it. So, Teyla was living in poverty and sickness, Ronon was gonna have the crap beaten out of him purely for fun and Sheppard was trapped in a household with a nympho wife and a psychotically jealous husband?

He huffed a bitter laugh into his chest, shaking his head.

Just another day in the Pegasus Galaxy, then.

oooOOOooo

By the time the transporter touched down in the Tranaedan's hangar, Sheppard's two female companions were over the worst of their ordeal and back into flirtatious mode. If he had to listen to the magistra's friend tell him how handsome and brave he was one more time, he swore he was going to hurl.

He flung open the hatch and jumped out, then loaned them his support as they climbed down, Magistra Callaedin grasping his hand once they were on the floor and refusing to let go. 'Well, Alethael, he might have a problem with authority, but he certainly is heroic.'

He tried to extract his fingers, but she just gripped onto them tighter, determined to keep hold of them until she was ready to let go.

'I'll ensure he gets the proper thanks,' Magistra Tranaedan nodded, grasping her friend's arm and tugging her away.

Sheppard wasn't sure he wanted to find out what her idea of "proper thanks" was. It sounded like more trouble than it was worth.

Magistra Callaedin held onto his hand as long as possible, finally releasing it as he resisted being pulled forward with her.

'Good night, Jadrael. I hope to see you again soon,' she called, watching him the whole time until she was out of the door.

'Not if I see you first,' he muttered under his breath, turning to look at the craft to see just how much work he had to do before crawling into his bed. He was grateful to see it wasn't so bad...another sweep out of the floor inside followed by a quick polish up and he could hit the hay with hours to spare before morning. Which wouldn't be a problem if he didn't ache so much.

He lifted up his vest, revealing the four angry circular burn marks on his torso. Not to mention the blistered skin under his cuffs. Bitches! Where did they get off thinking they could treat people that way? But they could. They had the wealth and they had the status...he was just their latest toy...something shiny and new to play with until the novelty wore off. Well, the novelty had well and truly worn off for him tonight. There was no way he was letting her get away with anything like that again.

Sitting down on the steps of the craft, he dropped his head into his hands and let the reality of his situation sink in. He was in trouble...big trouble. Magistra Tranaedan clearly wanted more than just piloting skills from him...as, apparently, did her friend, and after hearing what had happened with her previous pilot...that "unfortunate accident", he really couldn't afford to give ground to her. But now, short of Atlantis starting some kind of interplanetary incident and blasting them out of there, he had no clue how any of them were going to escape. And since there were one hundred cities and as far as he knew no way of knowing which one they were in for sure, that could become one hell of an incident – not the kind of thing that was likely to win them many allies in Pegasus. All this because he'd listened to some dumb voice in his head.

He wondered how far Atlantis had got with the search and rescue. He supposed whoever was in charge in these parts might be willing to let his people in, but something told him the government of this planet was well aware of the activities of its inhabitants. They obviously kept a tight rein on them considering all the walls and shields and permissions that had to be granted to even travel. Ashnael had brought them into the city without a hitch, which seemed odd. He probably had those facilitator guys at the gates in his pocket and so they'd been willing to turn a blind eye to the extra passengers. Elizabeth would most likely kick his butt all the way back to Stargate Command, and he wouldn't blame her for it. Why the hell had he not acted sooner at Ashnael's house? He'd known the creep was up to something. If he'd pulled his gun on him as soon as he'd heard Ronon's surgery was complete, they might all be back on Atlantis by now, feet up and trying to keep Ronon entertained in the infirmary while he recovered. But something had told him not to...and he had a feeling it had something to do with the weird red-eyed people in his dream...

'What on Traginta Duo were you thinking taking the Magistra out into the parkland at this time of night?' he heard Raelzine shout from the doorway as she stormed her way into the hangar.

That was all he needed...the old witch on his case again. He peered up at her as she stomped toward him. 'She asked me to. What was I supposed to do?'

'Say no, of course,' she snapped, jabbing a bony finger into his shoulder. 'She was inebriated.'

'And how is that my problem?' he asked, fully aware of how much his belligerence would bother her, but not giving a damn any more.

'When she is in any of these craft she is in your charge; it's your duty to protect her. You should have refused knowing her judgment was impaired.'

Incensed to be in trouble with her yet again, he got to his feet, looming over her. 'Let me ask you this, Raelzine. Is there a single bad thing that happens in this house that isn't my fault?'

'Those women could have been gravely injured –'

'I didn't know that! When are you going to get it into your head that all this is alien to me? You tell me I have to toe the line, then you tell me I have to stand my ground. And am I really supposed to feel bad about what might have happened to that couple of screwed up whores?'

When he flailed his left arm angrily in the direction they'd left in, Raelzine caught hold of it, pushing back the cuff as far as it would go to reveal the blistered skin beneath. 'I see they had to punish you once again,' she grunted, though clearly shocked by its appearance. 'What did you do this time?'

'I didn't do anything!' he yelled. 'I don't have to do anything to get into trouble round here, don't you get that?'

She sighed, nodded, and took a deep breath, her eyes moistening. 'I'm sorry, Jadrael. Perhaps I should simply have asked what happened,' she said more gently.

His temper came off the boil as he recognised the genuine concern in her expression. Besides, he was too damn tired to stay mad at her tonight. 'You don't need to know,' he said, feeling embarrassed about the whole sordid ordeal now he was able to look back on it. He sat back down and leaned his elbows on his knees, resting his aching joints again.

She nodded, looking even more upset now. 'Did they...hurt you?'

'Well, clearly!' he snorted, holding up both his burned wrists so the cuffs slipped up his arms a little way, exposing the blistered skin again.

Raelzine's response was to dip into the pocket of her work apron and pull out a cloth, scrubbing it across his mouth. He jerked his head back, instantly spotting the faint lipstick smear on the fabric.

'Did they_ hurt_ you?' she asked again, pronouncing the words very deliberately this time.

A glow warmed his cheeks and he couldn't maintain her gaze. 'No...they got interrupted by that guy who attacked them.'

He heard her gasp, but then she took him by surprise when she grasped him by the shoulders, giving him a firm shake. 'You have to be strong, Jadrael. Make her understand that you will not be swayed. I will not lose another member of our serving staff to her impetuous desires.'

'Well, getting that across isn't so easy when you're restrained and tortured,' he huffed bitterly, regretting divulging even that much to the woman. But he needed to talk to someone...to get just how angry and humiliated he felt out of his system. When he'd got back he'd wanted to punch the walls, but his anger was dissipating now, diluted by the fact it seemed he might have an ally in the household after all.

Raelzine passed the cloth to him and he wiped a little more of the greasy gloss from his mouth, glad to be rid of the lingering taste of Magistra Callaedin. He'd thought he'd got the lipstick off with the back of his hand during the flight home, but apparently not all of it. He could feel Raelzine watching him and realised his frantic rubbing probably looked a little OCD to her. He stopped, tentatively offering her the cloth back.

She took it, stuffing it straight back into her apron as if the very sight or touch of it was utterly revolting to her. 'Now get yourself to your room, young man,' she insisted, brushing at the front of his vest and making him wince. A moment of pained sympathy passed across her face, then she set her jaw resolutely again. 'You've had quite a day. Time to get some sleep and put all this behind you.'

'I still have to clean the transport,' he said, thumbing back toward it. 'I'm gonna get my ass kicked if that thing isn't polished before morning.'

'Leave it to Lanae and I,' she told him, pushing him toward the door. 'We'll soon have it done.'

'Won't I get into trouble if they find out I didn't do it?'

'They won't know; they're too wrapped up in tales of the magistras' narrow escape this evening. Now off you go and get some rest. Oh, and be sure to bathe those burns of yours, but dry them well once you're done. I'll bring you something to put on them so they don't get infected. Oh, and leave your clothes outside your door. I'll clean them for you later.'

He nodded and smiled his thanks, not waiting to be asked twice to leave things to her. She was right...it had been one hell of a day and he was now exhausted, sore and...and scared if he dared to admit that much to himself.

When he got to his room a clean bowl of water and soap and a towel had been set beside his bed, awaiting the completion of his cleaning duties, he supposed. He hauled off his vest, awakening all kinds of pain in his arms and stomach as he aggravated his burned skin. Bathing under the cuffs wasn't easy, drying the burns proved even harder, and by the end of his efforts he had pained tears streaking down his cheeks.

So, exhausted by his duties and injuries, he dimmed down his lamp and lay back and waited for his frantic mind to wear itself out, his desperate attempts to formulate some kind of escape plan eventually blurring into the surrealism of sleep...

_...where the red-eyed masses grouped around him, reaching out to him, grasping at his arms and legs and pulling at his clothes as they begged him to help them._

_He was swallowed up by the seething crowd, all of them pressing in, bearing down, sobbing and pleading...suffocating and crushing him in their desperation for him to hear their supplications. He tried to ask them to stop, but found he had no voice...no air in his lungs to form any sound. He was trapped...dying...and no one could hear him screaming..._

_Blackness engulfed him. He was falling into a great abyss, the faces now peering in on him, hands reaching down toward him, but so far away...so very far away now. _

_In his dream, he landed with a thud, jolting himself awake to the sight of Teyla, her red eyes gazing into his._

'_The sensory wishes to see you.'_

He jerked awake, this time for real, finding himself alone and still in considerable pain, even the weight of the blankets feeling too much for his burned skin. As promised, he spotted that Raelzine had left a pot of soothing salve on the crate beside his bed while he slept, and he applied some carefully to his burns, gritting his teeth against the stinging sensation it awoke in them. Eventually, complete exhaustion dragged him back down into slumbers, but his dreams brought him yet more distress, troubling him throughout the night.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

Trade Minister Incraem Falaedin was every bit the pompous bureaucrat Elizabeth had been expecting him to be.

He sat behind his huge, highly polished metal desk and barely smiled as the Lanteans were shown into the room. Only one chair had been set out on the opposite side of the huge table, despite the fact Elizabeth had specified there would be six members in her party. Evidently, Minister Falaedin had no intention of making them feel too comfortable.

Out of the window behind his desk, there was a fantastic view of the city of Uno. Falaedin's office was near the top of the tallest building within the city limits, meaning they could see a good distance, even to the towering walls beyond the bustling streets.

Elizabeth strode confidently up to his desk and extended her hand to him. 'Minister Falaedin. Thank you for agreeing to see us at such short notice,' she smiled, waiting for him to take her hand.

He arched an eyebrow as he gazed at her offered hand, then slowly stood and reciprocated, his grip limp and a little clammy. Somehow, Elizabeth had been expecting that, too.

'The pleasure is all mine, Dr Weir,' he replied, his face cracking into the briefest and most pathetic of smiles. 'Please, take a seat.'

She did so, the men who had travelled with her grouping behind her chair like a human wall. A quick scan of the room showed all the trappings of affluence one might expect in a government office; fine decor, paintings, and great flourishes of flowers in expensive looking tall vases. He sat back, peering at them over knitted fingers.

'So, I understand you are interested in striking up trade with our planet,' the man began, dispensing with any hopes of friendly small talk she may have been harbouring.

'That's right. It isn't often we come across a race of people as advanced as yours. I'm sure we could begin trading in a way that might be mutually beneficial.'

'As you can imagine,' Falaedin interrupted. 'We already have many trade partnerships in place. What is it you believe you can bring to the table that would make you an appealing proposition?'

There was something about the way Falaedin said that while staring intently at her that left her with a distinctly uncomfortable feeling. But Elizabeth was used to difficult negotiations, she wasn't about to let a little testosterone put her off.

'Oh, I think you'll find we have many advantages that other races in the Pegasus Galaxy cannot possibly offer you. Perhaps it would be easier to begin with ascertaining what it is your people lack, and we'll see if I can supply it.'

...A shade over two hours later, and an agreement had been reached. Apparently, Haraendon was a mining planet, and she had agreed to supply some equipment and explosives that would help speed up the process. In return, Atlantis would receive a supply of Maratae, a drug used as a sedative on Haraendon, and one that had only minimal risks in comparison to the anaesthetics more popularly used on Earth, along with a food substance that could be manipulated to mimic any other food, but which had great benefits to human health by boosting the immune system. It wasn't something they produced themselves, but they were apparently able to obtain an abundant supply in trade with another race.

Pleased with striking a deal, Elizabeth felt now would at last be a good time to broach the subject of her missing personnel once more.

'Now we have an agreement in place, I wonder if I could impose on you for another favour, Minister?' she asked politely.

'Certainly,' Falaedin smiled, his lips pulling back to reveal obviously treated and whitened teeth.

'Our advance party...a team of people I sent before me to enquire about a possible trade partnership, is missing. We've found their ship crashed some miles from here, and we need permission to make enquiries in the cities to find out if any of your people have seen them. Now we have one another's trust, I wonder if you could possibly furnish us with the necessary permissions to enter your cities and carry out an enquiry.'

Immediately, Falaedin's friendliness cooled. No surprises there; Elizabeth had expected that, too.

'I am not in a position to give those permissions,' he stated haughtily, with a dismissive flick of his wrist. 'Intercity logistics are not governed by my department.'

Elizabeth smirked. 'I understand that, Minister Falaedin, I really do. But I'm sure you understand that we are very concerned about our missing personnel , and every assistance you can give us in locating them can only cement the agreement we have just drawn up.'

She risked a glance over her shoulder where she knew Lorne was standing, gaining a surreptitious nod of approval. At least her men were on side with this not-so-subtle blackmail.

'We are a private people, very discerning in whom we allow beyond the city walls...even the movements of our own people are limited between cities, and every journey is logged and double checked. There is no possible way outsiders got inside any of our cities.'

'Yes, I've had that explained to me before,' Elizaeth told him patiently, 'but I don't think you understand how resourceful –'

'Where did they crash their ship?'

Elizabeth blinked, silenced momentarily by his unexpected question. 'Uh, Radek. Could you show him?'

Zelenka scuttled forward with his computer tablet and set it down on the minister's desk, pointing to the spot he'd asked about. 'This is where we found their craft.'

Falaedin took in the image, then looked Elizabeth straight in the eye. 'If your people crashed out in the Soulless Sands and walked towards our cities, then the most likely result of their actions is that they became a meal for the beasts that lurk beneath the lands between.'

A flutter of panic began in Elizabeth's throat, but she forced it down. She would not believe they had fallen prey to the local wildlife until she had searched every street of every city on this planet, and if they wanted help with their mining programme, they would have to help her do that. 'Even if that's the case, surely you won't begrudge us the opportunity to set our minds at rest, once and for all?' she said quietly, hoping a softer tone would strike a chord.

Apparently it worked, because in the next moment he actually nodded. 'Very well. Give me a few moment's to discuss your request with First Minister Thalaezin, and I'll see what I can do.'

With that, he stood up and excused himself. Elizabeth watched him go, seeing the slight hunch of his shoulders that suggested just how much he was against what she wanted him to do.

'So they will help us. This is good, yes?' Radek asked with a faint but hopeful smile.

Elizabeth wasn't so sure. At the back of her mind, a question was nagging. Why did this government seem so determined they should give up their search for Sheppard and his team? 'Let's hope so,' she replied, gazing out of the window and across the city to the distant towering walls closing them in. 'Let's hope so.'

oooOOOooo

When Sheppard woke the next morning, he found himself staring into another set of startlingly red orbs. Figuring he was still dreaming, he closed his eyes to give himself time to fully come round, but when he opened them again, it was to the exact same sight – a young girl with red eyes squatting beside his bed and blinking back at him.

'Good morning, John,' she chirped.

He sat up with a start, pulling his coarse blanket up over his chest. 'Uh, yeah...morning,' he replied warily, scrubbing at his ruffled hair.

'I heard you were here at last, so thought I'd come to see you,' the girl grinned, bouncing a little with apparent excitement.

Sheppard didn't have a clue what she meant by that, but she seemed harmless enough. He swung his legs out, wincing as the burned skin on his stomach pulled. Oh, yeah. He'd almost forgotten about all that. 'Is it time to get up?'

'The others are readying the morning meal, so I suppose it must be.'

The vagueness of her answer struck him as odd, and he narrowed his eyes, asking, 'You do work here, don't you?'

'Oh, no,' she replied, with a vehement shake of her head. 'I just came to see you for myself. Narandael told us you had come.'

'Narandael?' he repeated. 'So who's that?'

'You'll find out...when the time's right.'

The little girl – though decided odd in appearance he noticed now as he turned up the power in his lamp and saw not only were her eyes red, but her skin was a burnt orange hue and her hair had a strong copper hue – was far more cryptic than her age warranted. Either that, or he still hadn't had enough sleep, and that was a distinct possibility.

'Okay, so...do you have a name?' he asked, trying to keep things simple.

'Of course I do, silly,' she giggled, standing up and twirling her pretty red hair around her finger.

'Wanna tell me what it is?' he probed with a smirk.

'It's Ishraela,' she grinned back at him. 'Do you like it?'

'It's very pretty.'

'Thank you.'

A thought suddenly struck him, and he cursed himself for being so slow to pick up on it. 'You called me John.'

'Well it_ is_ your name, silly,' she giggled again, as if she found him the height of amusement.

Though she was testing his patience, he reminded himself she was only a kid, and asked, 'But how did you know?'

'Narandael told us,' she said, matter-of-fact.

'Ah Narandael again. This Narandael guy seems to know a lot of stuff,' he quipped. 'Does he work here?'

'In a way,' she smiled. 'You'll find out soon enough.'

Again with the cryptic clues. And then another thought struck him, one even more puzzling than the fact she knew his name. 'If you don't work here, what do you do?'

'I told you...I just came to see you for myself. The others will be really excited when they find out I spoke to you in person...I should go now before anyone catches me here. Oh, and don't forget...the sensory wishes to see you.'

With that, she was out of the door before he could stop her. He grabbed up his blanket and stumbled towards the door still wrapped in it. 'Wait, but how did you get in here?'

The corridor was empty; she was already gone.

Now wondering if he'd imagined the whole encounter, Sheppard closed the door and quickly dressed in some more oversized work clothes, heading down to the kitchen where he found the other servants already up and about either preparing or eating breakfast. The room was basic but cosy, with bare, undecorated walls, bar the cooking utensils hanging up on them. Warmth enveloped him the moment he stepped through the door, emanating from a fire that burned in a simply cast metal fireplace and the ovens at the far end of the room where Lanae was busy cooking various dishes. At the centre of the room sat a substantial unpolished metal table, with two metallic benches running its length on either side. It was obviously a preparation area as well as where the servants ate, since Raelzine was busy mixing something at one end while Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee, as he'd now chosen to rename the thugs who had cuffed him, sat together at the other end already eating.

'Morning,' he said, announcing his presence.

'Ah, Jadrael...come, sit down and eat,' Raelzine fussed, guiding him to a free spot at the table opposite his two favourite heavies.

The food she set out in front of him wasn't a patch on what Lanae had brought to him in the hangar last night, but it was substantial and filling, and made him feel better than he had on rising. Lanae watched him from her place at the ovens; he could see her looking at his wrists from the corner of her eye as he ate. No doubt Raelzine had told her something about what had happened when they'd been cleaning the craft for him last night, but he had to wonder how detailed her explanation had been. There was no point in unduly distressing the girl, after all.

'Hurry, Lanae. We must serve breakfast,' Raelzine squawked at her, probably seeing how distracted the girl was this morning. Sheppard wondered how many of them this had happened to before...and whether they all knew how he had come by the burns beneath his cuffs. The thought brought a rush of heat to his cheeks...then he told himself to stop being so dumb. Even if these people did know Magistra Tranaedan and her friend had used a cattle prod on him, that didn't mean they knew about any of the other stuff they'd done. He was sure Raelzine had more decorum than to share that information.

The women hurriedly ate their own meals while they worked, Raelzine doing so as she tidied and prepared food for their owners, then they left carrying trays full of various choices, all of which smelled a sight better than his own food. Still it was taking the edge off his hunger... There was far too much food for two people to eat. It looked wasteful to Sheppard, but he supposed the fact the servants got to pick through what they left later made it less so. Them and those "afflicted" folks Lanae had told him about yesterday. But eating their scraps was still degrading, no matter how hungry people were.

From across the table, the two men he'd come to loathe stared, emotionless, most likely trying to intimidate him. He'd faced worse, Taliban, Wraith queens, Ronon in one of his moods and the like, so he just continued to eat and ignored them. It was awkward, but again, awkward he could cope with. What he didn't feel ready for was any kind of trouble. Hopefully, he might just get a quiet day of vehicle maintenance in and then some more rest tonight. Or even better, Atlantis would locate him and get him the hell out of there before he took root.

The two of them continued to give him the evil eye the whole time they ate, perhaps seeing him as some kind of threat to their supposed masculinity, or perhaps just too stupid to form coherent conversation. Whatever the reason, he had no cause to speak to them either, so he chose not to.

After around twenty minutes of strained silence, Raelzine thankfully returned to chivvy him along. 'Hurry and finish up your food now, Jadrael,' she panted, as she bustled in carrying used dishes from upstairs. 'Magister Tranaedan wishes to see you.'

He raised his eyebrows and asked, 'Me? Why?'

'Because he paid for you,' one of the heavies opposite growled, then they both sprayed out a chuckle that decorated the tabletop with chewed up food.

Their jibe set him prickling, and Raelzine was quick to gesticulate for him to keep quiet. So he couldn't discuss his kidnapping with the goons? Perhaps Raelzine was right and it would be more trouble than it was worth.

Pouting silently into what remained of his meal, he ignored them and finished up, then allowed Raelzine to lead him up to the dining room where his other "owner" waited for him.

Raelzine announced that she'd brought him as requested and whispered to him to bow as he slipped past her and into the room.

He did, keeping his head dipped as he walked in and picked a spot a few feet into the room to stop and wait for instruction.

His arrival met with an obvious silence. For a moment, he thought Magister Tranaedan had left the room by another exit and he was there alone, but then he heard the sound of a heavy, sighing breath, and a chair scraping back across the floor. Footsteps, solid and heavy, thudded his way and, with his head still down, he saw a pair of substantial and highly polished steel-toed boots arrive just in front of him.

'So, you're the new pilot?' a deep voice asked.

Although it seemed a rather redundant question, Sheppard answered him all the same. Pilot was preferable to "slave", after all. 'Yes, Magister Tranaedan.'

'Lift your head, boy,' the Magister demanded sharply, and biting back the urge to tell him to watch his tone, Sheppard lifted his eyes to meet those of his supposed master.

The man was bigger than Sheppard had envisaged, and much older. Whereas Magistra Tranaedan was probably five or so years older than him, perhaps a little more, this man was easily twenty years his senior at least. His broad girth was squeezed into a jacket that barely buckled across him and looked as though it might explode in protest, and his thinning hair, more grey now than brown, was greased back slick against his head to keep it in order.

The man eyed him, quirking an eyebrow. 'Yes...I can't say I'm surprised...although you are a little older than I expected.'

Although Sheppard had been thinking the exact same thing, he thought it wise not to say so.

'My wife tells me you saved both her and Magistra Callaedin from a terrible attack last night,' the man said, continuing to stare intently at him.

'That's right, Magister Tranaedan,' he replied, holding the man's gaze. He had no idea if that was the right thing to do, but he was being as subservient as he damn well could be already.

'Magister will do,' the man huffed, walking away and snatching up a coat from the back of a chair where it lay draped. 'I congratulate you on your efforts. The situation could have ended very badly if you had not intervened, I understand.'

Sheppard felt a pang of guilt as he thought of the young man who had jumped in to stop his abuse at the hands of this man's wife and her lascivious friend. Had he known the woman would kill the poor bastard, he would have let him get away. People couldn't just go around handing out that kind of corporal punishment, and if the women hadn't been treating him so badly in the first place, the guy might never have done what he did...maybe he'd even suffered something similar himself. The women had said he was more than likely an escaped slave, so who knew what he'd been through in his life?

'Thank you, Magister,' he said quietly, but the words left a sour taste in his mouth as he spoke them.

'Now, I'm told you're something of an expert pilot. I think it's time we head down to the transport store and I run through the specifications of the various craft you will be required to fly, don't you?'

The big man swept past him, and it was evident he expected Sheppard to follow. Figuring it sounded like it could be interesting, the colonel tagged along without the slightest hesitation, the first time he'd done anything without a pause for thought in two days.

oooOOOooo

Although some of the details meant nothing to Sheppard, including the measurement of speed used on this planet, he was able to glean enough information from Magister Tranaedan's tour of the transport store to know which was the craft most likely to get him out of there quickest should the opportunity arise. Of course, he still had to overcome the problems of opening the hangar hatch, the identity chip that would lead the Tranaedans straight to him, and the guarded triple gates that formed the only way out of the city, but once he'd figured a way around those _minor_ glitches, he was home and dry. Piece of cake. And once he was out, he could lead his people to Traginta Duo to look for the others who were hopefully still here somewhere.

'What craft have you flown before, Jadrael?' Magister Tranaedan asked, not bothering to look at him as he swiped his hand over the shiny black and red number Sheppard admired so much.

Was he serious? Didn't he know he was an off-worlder? Sheppard was about to name a few of the aircraft he'd flown in his many years as a pilot, then checked himself. If Magister Tranaedan didn't know he was an off-worlder while others in the household did, there might be a very good reason for that. Maybe Magistra Tranaedan had told him never to mention it to him for his own safety, not just because it would nnoy him.

'Uh...just basic craft, really. Nothing as fantastic as this,' he said, dipping his head to the ship Magister Tranaedan was caressing. It couldn't hurt to butter him up.

The distraction seemed to work. 'I should think not,' Tranaedan scoffed, his face bloated with pride. 'I'm the only person on Haraendon to own one of these beauties.' He turned toward him then, a glint in his eye. 'Why don't we take her out and you can show me what you're made of?'

Sheppard's heart gave a little skip of excitement. It didn't matter where he was, or what the circumstances were, flying was in his blood, and the thought of taking to the air in something new always thrilled him.

'Yes, Magister,' he said, eagerly stepping forward to open the hatch of the craft.

Magister Tranaedan slapped the back of his hand into John's chest and made a shooing motion, silently explaining that he was happy to climb into the ship unaided. Sheppard gave him space and time to get seated, then jumped on behind him, slipping in to the vacant pilot seat and realising this was the craft he should have slept in that first evening. The chair moulded to his shape the instant he sat in it, automatically gauging his height and weight and adjusting itself to the optimum flight position.

'Whoa! That is so cool!' he breathed, grasping the steering apparatus, which had risen up in front of him.

'It will warm up as we fly,' Tranaedan promised him, clearly missing the intent of his comment.

Realising he was lucky the man hadn't picked up on the strangeness of his praise, Sheppard made a mental note to keep his excitement to himself in future, hard as that might be when faced with such technological finery.

Tranaedan ran through the controls with him, most of them logical in their location and the various symbols used to indicate their purpose. He quickly memorised the most important ones, knowing a little about speed and altitude from the other craft, then, when Tranaedan pulled the remote for the ramp out of the hanger from beneath his jacket, where he wore it suspended from a chain, he set the craft in motion.

The ship was startlingly fast, and he found himself immediately holding back, laying off the acceleration until he felt he could fully gauge the sensitivity of the steering. It didn't take long to get the hang of it, and then he knew he _really_ wanted one of these things. If he could escape in it, that would just be an added bonus. He wove smoothly in and out of the other vehicles around in the streets, the transport handling so much more smoothly than the other, larger craft he'd been using with Magistra Tranaedan that it felt almost as responsive as a jumper.

'Take it to the outskirts,' Tranaedan instructed. 'You can run around the perimeter with less danger of collision.'

Sheppard did as instructed, steering the vessel toward the vast wall enclosing the city, then following it round. The track around the outside of the city development was devoid of other traffic, and so he was able to increase the speed and push the ship a little harder. Inside, he felt no effects, just like the superb handling of the jumper, only the blurring of their surroundings giving any clue of how fast they were moving.

'We're approaching the gates. Slow it down,' Tranaedan barked, and Sheppard decelerated hard, again feeling no ill effects. They ambled past the gate to ensure no one was passing through it, then Sheppard set off faster again, whipping them around at breakneck speed.

When Tranaedan ordered him to slow and take them home again, the colonel was actually sorry it was over. This was the most fun he'd had since first taking up a jumper, even if it was under the supervision of his so-called master. This Magister Tranaedan seemed to be far more level-headed and even-handed than his erratic and frustrating wife. If he could find a way to spend most of his time serving this guy until Atlantis plucked him from their clutches this might actually be doable without getting the crap kicked out of him.

Still unfamiliar with all the streets, he was grateful when Tranaedan gave him guidance to lead him home. Once they'd landed, Tranaedan looked across at him, clearly impressed.

'Well, Jadrael. You don't know how surprised and pleased I am to discover you are just as fine a pilot as my wife claimed,' he said, his mouth twitching into a vague assimilation of a smile. 'I have to confess, when I first saw you this morning I thought she had simply purchased you for her own nefarious purposes.'

Sheppard feigned puzzlement in the hope Tranaedan would be convinced nothing like that was going on.

'She has an eye for attractive men,' Tranaedan confided, actually looking a little sad as he said it. 'And I am not the man I once was...'

Wondering if he was supposed to respond to that, Sheppard opted to stay quiet, not really sure how to react anyway. Tranaedan was no oil painting, that was plain to see, but looks weren't everything...money was usually important to people like the magistra, too.

'You've impressed me today, Jadrael,' Tranaedan suddenly boomed, rallying. 'If you continue to carry out your duties as a pilot with this amount of skill, I see no reason why your servitude in the Tranaedan household shouldn't be a relatively easy one.'

Now that was music to the colonel's ears. He could certainly fly ships for a while, especially if he got the chance to take this little gem out again.

'If, however, you deviate from what your duties entail in any other way,' the man's gaze intensified at this point, making it quite clear what he meant by that, 'you will be punished in such a way as to make you regret ever doing so. Do I make myself clear, Jadrael?'

Sheppard gave a sharp nod. 'Yes, Magister.'

'Good...come with me now. I have something else to show you.'

Intrigued, Sheppard jumped out behind him, following him to the elevator where they rode four floors up and headed to a room Tranaedan kept locked.

'I'm not only a collector of transports,' he announced, opening the door and switching on the light in the room that lay beyond. 'I'm also a connoisseur of fine art.'

As Magister Tranaedan walked in, Sheppard followed in his wake. The room was bedecked with paintings and sculptures, some canvases twice his height and even wider. There were portraits, cityscapes, and depictions of the landscapes beyond the city walls along with more abstract images. The walls were alive with colour, the sculptures abounding with movement and life. They were classy pieces, just like the transports. The man certainly had good taste.

'This is the largest collection of work by Haraendon's finest artists on this planet,' the magister boasted, turning full circle to absorb the work around him. 'Impressive, don't you think?'

'Very, Magister,' Sheppard nodded. He'd never been an art fan himself, but he could appreciate a good painting when he saw one, and there were plenty of them in that room. Including, he now saw, a portrait of Tranaedan's wife, clearly done a few years ago, and very flattering if not a little risqué. Figuring it better not to dwell on that one, he took a few steps closer to a cityscape and studied that instead.

'Recently, I've diversified a little...trying my hand at a bit of sculpture myself,' the Magister told him, heading now toward the back of the room. 'I was feeling inspired, but I'm not sure I quite captured the subject I was trying to depict. I call it "Fall from Grace".'

He slipped his key card into the locking device beside the door and revealed a smaller anti-chamber off that room. The lighting within it was subdued, but Sheppard could see something enclosed inside it that he couldn't quite make out. He hoped the man wasn't going to ask for a critique because that really wasn't his forte.

Tranaedan beckoned him forward, and as he closed in on the doorway, he could see a grotesque sculpture beyond – the figure of a young man, his body broken and impaled on iron spikes. His pale, blueish limbs were streaked with red, as was the base of the artwork, though Sheppard thought Tranaedan had taken the realism a little too far with the way the paint ran down the two foot drop from the plinth onto the floor below.

Then, the smell hit him.

Nauseous realisation struck. This sculpture, the one he had thought so skilfully coloured, if a little overzealous with the blood, was a real person in the early stages of decay, and from the look of his eviscerated body, he had bled to death right there in that tiny closet of a room. Shocked, Sheppard took a step back from the overwhelming sight and odour, bumping straight into Magister Tranaedan, who had closed down the space behind him.

'Thought provoking, wouldn't you say?' Tranaedan rasped in his ear as his hand clamped down heavily on his shoulder. 'Manstaen deviated from his duties to Magistra Tranaedan. Now his sin is forever immortalised...at least until his stinking carcass falls apart.'

He moved aside now and Sheppard staggered back, desperate for clean air. Tranaedan shut the door across the scene, looking on Sheppard now with something rivalling one of Ronon's more homicidal glares. 'I know I can trust you not to be so foolish.'

'No, Magister Tranaedan.'

'And you will mention this to no one.'

'No. No one.'

'Good. Now one more thing. Get on your knees.'

Panicked, Sheppard hesitated, wondering why he wanted him to kneel, afraid he might be about to kill him. That minor pause earned him a crunching blow to his jaw that knocked him sideways, stars dancing in his vision.

He knelt without having to be asked twice, more to save himself from an ungainly collapse than any desire to obey. The sudden and inexorable pull of his magnetic cuffs kicked in then, dragging his hands to the metallic floor and pinning them there, while Magistra Tranaedan moved behind him, sliding a knife out from his pocket. Sheppard felt a tug on the back of his vest, and a tearing sound followed, his master having slit several inches down from the neck of the garment.

'Next time I ask you to kneel, don't even think about whether or not to do it,' Tranaedan bellowed. 'I don't know what kind of a household you came from, but here I demand absolute loyalty. Do you understand?'

'Yes, Magister,' Sheppard ground out, but the words he was screaming in his mind were unrepeatable.

'And as a sign of that loyalty, you will wear my mark.'

A strange buzz kicked in behind him, then an excruciating burning sensation struck him on the back of his right shoulder. The smell of burning skin pervaded his nostrils and lungs, and he cried out at the prolonged sensation, a fine pinpoint of searing heat scribing its way around his shoulder blade.

After what felt like an age, the buzz stopped and the unwavering hold of his cuffs relented, allowing him to sit back on his heals as he tried to breathe through the pain.

'Now, I believe you have a craft to clean before this afternoon. I need you to fly me to an important meeting I have with several business associates, and the libations are usually flowing.'

Sheppard got to his feet and strode from the room as confidently as he could manage on trembling legs. He didn't address the man at all, and for some reason Magister Tranaedan didn't pick him up on it, allowing his lack of respect to slide this once. Perhaps he thought shock was a good enough excuse for him to forget him manners, but shock had nothing to do with it. He just had to get out of that room before he did something he regretted, something that would doubtless end up with him in even more trouble than he was already...if that was even possible.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

All morning, Teyla had battled to put the images of John and Ronon's suffering from her mind, but now, with the chores she had willingly undertaken almost complete, she could shut them out no longer. With John's screams echoing through her head, she sat down on an old wooden stool that leaned badly to the right, and dropped her head into her hands, trying to think of something she could do to help her missing friends.

Rodney, it seemed, was in safe hands. Sangaela had gone on to tell her that the scientist had been bought by a physician in the city, a good kind man who was looking after him well. At least that was one less of her team to worry about. Even if the rest of them never got out of there, Rodney would be safe. But she had to get out. She had to do something.

She walked through the destitute streets of the township she was trapped in, listening to the cries of pain, and the sobs of those grieving the recently lost or the soon to die, and trying to imagine what it would be like to spend all of her life this way. Her head ached yet again, and her stomach churned, and from the corner of her eye, she kept thinking she could see things that weren't there – members of her team, Elizabeth, a Wraith, and one time even her father. It was a most disconcerting feeling.

'It's the magnetism,' Sangaela said, having followed her now. 'We have lived with it all our lives and have grown accustomed to its effects.'

Teyla found a spot where she could sit until her current wave of dizziness passed. 'I cannot imagine how bad you must feel if constantly exposed to its effects. There must have some long term consequences to you and your people.'

'There are,' the woman nodded. 'That is why our people grow sick. I am certain the magnetism in the environment is what ails us.'

'What I cannot understand is why the city people are so cruel as to confine you in an area that makes you so ill.'

'Because they fear us and what we can show them. Once, our people moved out here willingly to relieve overcrowding in the city. But then, when others from the city came to visit our kind, they began to see and sense a difference in us. The soil is rich in ferrous ores. Over the decades they are absorbed into us, giving us this unusual colouring.' The old woman looked at her arm, extending it under the sunlight and rubbing her wizened skin. 'But it wasn't our colour that troubled them as much as the truths we could tell them.' She chuckled then, so much so she ended up wiping a tear of mirth from her eye. 'Oh, and the frustration of trying to trade with someone who can see through all your lies. Can you imagine it?'

Teyla laughed along, though her heart remained heavy. It was good that Sangaela could find humour in her situation, but really, there was nothing funny about what had been done to them.

'I thought I saw my father today, and he has been dead for many, many years,' she confided, her own tears welling now.

'And what did he say to you?' the old woman asked her, as if it was the most normal thing in the word.

Teyla frowned, tilting her head quizzically at the odd question. 'Nothing. He was not really there.'

'Do not be so sure of that,' Sangaela replied, smiling knowingly. 'Perhaps your people believe that once a soul has moved on from this life it is forever lost to us, but that's not the case.'

'It is not?'

'No, some of our close ones stay with us, watching over us...guiding us. Your father may be one of those. Embrace this opportunity, Teyla. You have a skill...a sensitivity others do not possess. It makes you more...gifted. I believe that in time you will master these images far better than even I ever have. You may speak with your father yet.'

Teyla shook her head and stood again, dusting herself off. 'No disrespect to you and your people, Sangaela, but I have no intention of staying in this place for that long. I mean to get out of here and help my friends...and if there is any way I can help your people too, then I will do it.'

'Teyla you do not need to worry –'

Frustrated by the afflicteds' apathy, Teyla forced herself to run to the middle of the enclosure despite how much the movement drained her, where she stepped up on top of a rock that jutted up from the ground there.

'Everyone...everyone come. I have something I wish to say to you all.'

Slowly, everyone who was capable of walking shuffled her way, curious to hear what the newcomer had to say.

'I know I have only been amongst you for a very short time,' she began, gazing round at the feeble looking people surrounding her. 'But already I have seen the conditions you are forced to live in and know that it is wrong.'

The afflicted townspeople looked at one another curiously, then back up at her with barely a sign of interest.

'I know these walls completely enclose you, but I am certain that with effort we can dig through or beneath them.'

'But where would we go?' a young man near the front of the group asked her. 'The people in the cities will not accept us.'

'You do not have to go back to the cities, although it is only right that you should be allowed to if that be your choice. I could ask my people to help relocate you to a world where you will be free and no one will fear you, and you need not fear them.'

'Is there such a place?' a small girl asked, gazing up at her with huge amber eyes, from beneath russet curls.

'Yes, there are many other worlds where I am certain you will be welcome...or even a world where you could live free as a people without having to fit into anyone else's society, an uninhabited world, bountiful and ready for you to begin your lives there.'

'And we would be alone again, sent to an even more distant corner of the galaxy so we do not frighten others,' Sangaela piped up, undermining her.

'That is not what I meant. The choice would be yours, within reason.'

'Unless you could find no other race willing to accommodate us,' Sangaela said. 'And you fear that is a possibility. We feel it in you.'

Teyla sagged, dropping her face into her hands. She had forgotten how hard it could be to make people entrenched in their ways see sense. It had not been her responsibility to lead a people alone for quite some time now.

'That is not true. Yes, it might be difficult, but I am certain someone would find it in their heart to help you in your time of need.'

'You wish us to leave our homes for an uncertain future?' a woman clutching a baby asked.

Teyla gazed upon the tiny bundle in her arms and smiled warmly. 'Better an uncertain future, than one that is already destined to end in tragedy.'

A murmur rippled around those gathered there, and she thought for a moment she had struck a chord in them. But then, one by one, they began to walk away.

'Wait! Please listen to me. I need your help. I understand that things here are bad and that you may not be able to leave with me, but if you help me get out of here to seek assistance for my friends, I promise to bring help back for you.'

Her words fell on deaf ears. They continued to return to their houses, leaving her standing there on that rock, bereft of all hopes of escape now. The walls were thick and high and the ground as hard as stone. It would take her an age to get out alone, probably more time than her friends could survive.

She looked at Sangaela, the only other person still there with her, and stepped down to approach her. 'I do not understand. Why will they not try to help themselves?'

'It is not themselves they worry about helping...it's you,' Sangaela told her, confusing her even more.

'Why? What have I done to offend them?'

'Nothing, child. They just will not help you steer your future in a way that is destined to end in tragedy.'

Sangaela walked away then, too, leaving Teyla wondering what exactly she meant by that.

oooOOOooo

Life was most definitely a bitch, Sheppard decided, as he washed down the magister's super craft. People like the Tranaedans didn't deserve big homes and fast ships and a staff of people on permanent alert to satisfy their every whim. In fact, he couldn't even put into words what people like the Tranaedans deserved. Even his colourful vocabulary couldn't conjure up anything entirely suitable, and he knew plenty of expletives to choose from.

He gritted his teeth and scrubbed on as the soapy water ran down his arms, making the burns beneath his cuffs throb with a vengeance. He could have done without the constant reminder of that little fiasco, and, frustration welling, he kicked out at the craft's ramp, instantly realising how dumb that was since it left him with a painful foot to add to his growing collecting of ailments.

Churlishly casting his cleaning sponge on the floor, Sheppard stood, hands on hips, and glared at the vessel. Much as he coveted it, right now he would willingly take an axe to the damn thing, just to strike back at the bastard. And then he'd die for a good reason, because smashing up a ship like this would be a crime...certainly more of a crime than screwing around with Tranaedan's tramp of a wife.

With that out of his system, he finally conceded that, for the time being, he would have to put up and shut up...to a degree – at least enough to stay out of any serious trouble until his Atlantis crewmates figured a way around this problem.

With that in mind, he set up some steps and climbed up to wash the top of the craft. No doubt if he didn't, the magister would come and do a white glove inspection on the thing and then he'd be in for yet another punishment for shirking his responsibilities.

When the door to the hangar opened, he didn't even stop working. He knew he'd been there a while and that it was most likely time for lunch, but didn't plan to call it quits until the ship was spotless. He wasn't giving Tranaedan any excuse to turn him into another piece of experimental art. The smell that wafted his way confirmed it was indeed some food arriving.

'Just set it down and I'll eat it later, thanks,' he shouted down, wincing when his burned stomach pressed against the ship's bodywork as he stretched, adding to the pain he'd been trying to ignore in his branded shoulder.

'Oh, but it's warm. You really should come down and eat it now,' Magistra Tranaedan cooed up at him from the bottom of the steps.

He stiffened at the sound of her voice, peering down over his shoulder at her. 'It's fine...really...I'll eat when I'm done.'

'You'll eat it now. I brought it especially from my own table for you.'

She grasped the metal stairs now, and he got the impression if he didn't come down, she would shake him off the damn things. Reluctantly he acquiesced, descending to her level. 'Good boy,' she purred, praising him as if he were her pet dog.

He just pursed his lips and folded his arms. 'You'll forgive me if I don't kneel,' he grunted.

'Well, I suppose I can let you off since you're so obviously sore.'

Well, sore was one way of putting it – mightily pissed and disgusted with her was another.

'Sit down,' she ordered, gesturing toward the craft's steps with a dip of her head. Though it made him feel like he was in some kind of bizarre pet training club, he again did as she asked. She hadn't actually asked too much of him so far, and he guessed the fact she'd brought food for him might be her idea of a peace offering.

Once he was seated, she set the plate down on his knees. The quality of the food was close to what had been left over from the dinner party last night, certainly better fare than he'd eaten that morning. He muttered his thanks and began examining everything there, wondering where to start.

The magistra seated herself beside him, pressing her hip to his. 'I understand you went out for a flight with my husband this morning. Did it go well?' she asked casually.

He shuffled as far to his left as he could, then picked up a slice of meat that resembled chicken, sniffing it and then taking a tentative bite. It tasted similar, too. 'I guess so,' he shrugged. 'I think he appreciates I can fly now.'

'Did he mention what happened last night?' she asked, her gaze now more intent.

'He thanked me for helping you and your friend,' he told her, chewing on another mouthful of the delicious meat.

'I take it you didn't tell him_ everything_ that happened?'

Now he understood the special treatment. She was worried he might tell her husband what had happened out in the parkland. Well, there was no chance of that. It had been embarrassing enough the first time, so he had no intention of reliving it for anyone who asked, not that she had to know that.

He shrugged. 'It didn't come up.'

She smiled and stroked his damp hair off his forehead. He jerked his head away and gave her the kind of look that suggested she might lose her arm if she tried that again.

I see my husband has left his mark on you,' she said now, lifting his torn vest to take a look at the injury. 'He knows I hate it when he scars the staff.'

'I think he was making a point,' Sheppard mumbled through another mouthful of food, twitching his shoulder so the fabric slipped from her grip.

'I've no doubt he was,' she agreed.

'Just like you were last night,' he added.

She sighed, nodding. 'I'm sorry about Magistra Callaedin. She does have a tendency to get a little...overzealous,' she said by way of an apology.

'Funny, I don't recall you telling her that last night,' he replied, keeping his eyes on his food. 'In fact, if memory serves, you were the one encouraging her.'

'Well...I happened to agree that you needed to be taught some respect,' she told him, her gaze burning into the side of his face even as he did his best to completely ignore it. 'And in truth, the Callaedin's are an influential couple on this planet...I could hardly tell her how to behave.'

'Why not?' he snapped, turning his anger on her now. 'You know she wouldn't have stopped if that guy hadn't leapt out on her. How far were you prepared to let her go before you finally stepped in?'

Her blue eyes looked back into his, and he saw no flicker of conscience for her part in his assault. 'I hold no sway over her, Jadrael. It would have gone as far as she thought necessary.'

He wanted to be angry with her, no, he wanted to be furious, but as he held her gaze he felt a shift in his mood, and he thought he understood why she'd felt forced to play along. Hell, he knew how it was to have to butter up people he would rather punch in the mouth. He'd met dozens of them while training for the air force. Perhaps he was wrong to hold it against her...and she _was_ very beautiful...

She leaned toward him, closing her eyes and clearly moving in for a kiss, and though he knew it was wrong, he remained frozen there by some sense of curiosity, wondering if she was less revolting than her supposedly powerful friend. Then, as their lips brushed, he suddenly remembered Manstaen.

He pulled back, and, pushing the plate into her hands, stood up and returned to his work. 'Thanks for the food, Magistra, but I just lost my appetite. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a transport to finish cleaning.'

Putting his moment of madness down to fatigue, he grabbed up what he needed to continue his work and mounted the steps again, gritting his teeth as he reached over the craft, straining the tightening skin of his burned torso.

'Careful, Jadreal,' he heard his owner call up to him, 'Don't hurt yourself so much you can't perform.'

That little gem just confirmed exactly what kind of woman the magistra was, and left him wondering how she'd suckered him so easily. He paused for a moment, sighed, and then got on with his work, refusing to even honour that comment with a response. Some things were simply too far beneath him to bother with.

oooOOOooo

Magister Tranaedan descended one level further than the hangar, a level in his home that only he had access to.

Down there, in the cold and damp, far away from the reaches of the nurturing sun, he kept what he considered his most important asset, an advantage over his other business rivals. Something he had paid a huge price for, but had proved to be worth every penny.

He strode down the stone cobbled corridor, boots splashing intermittently in the pools of moisture gathering down there, until he arrived at the doorway he was looking for. He peered through the small, barred window and sighed. His asset was not looking such a hot investment these days. Someday soon he would have to replace it, and he did so hate having to spend such exorbitant amounts of tallots on something he couldn't even boast about. Still, this one had lasted far longer than he had ever thought, exceeding all expectations in both performance and longevity.

Unlocking the door, he stepped inside, feeling the change in the charged air, activating the various controls required to set his advantage into motion. Stimulants first, and mild electrical impulses to bring it to consciousness, plus a goodly dose of truth serum, then he could assess his asset's needs as they arose. Then he approached the bars of the cell he now stood outside of, feeling the sandy soil he brought in and replaced so often beneath his boots.

A ragged breath denoted a change in the asset's condition, and the fragile creature dwelling in that dimly lit and desolate room beyond the metal grill lifted its head, its amber eyes meeting those of Magister Tranaedan. 'What is it you wish to know, Magister?' it croaked, its voice cracked and husky.

'I wish to know how best to handle my business meeting today. I need to get all four parties involved to meet my terms if I am to turn the profits I have promised my investors. Will I succeed?'

The withered man closed his eyes as if in concentration, his loose-skinned brow furrowing with thought. He sighed heavily, then said, 'It will be a productive meeting...but only if you ensure you win the support of Magister Karnaedan. His personal gambling habits mean he can ill afford the terms you would offer, but a deal struck with him privately before the discussions commence, one that crosses his palm with tallots, will ensure the success of your endeavours.'

Tranaedan curled his lip at the thought of parting with some of his own money. 'How many tallots will ensure I gain his approval? I don't want to spend a single tallot more than I have to.'

The old man groaned and shivered, so Tranaedan upped his dose of painkillers to help him to focus without distraction. 'Such things are hard to see; greed is such a fluid emotion, never settling at any one level for long.'

Tranaedan rolled his eyes. 'Come now, Sensory. I haven't come here for a philosophy lesson. I need your insight.' He turned the truth serum up an increment to be certain the pathetic creature wasn't keeping anything from him.

The sensory strained against the cuffs that held all four of his limbs to the wall as the liquid surged through him. 'He is in considerable debt...but twenty thousand tallots should be enough to ensure his support.'

'Twenty thousand! I should hope to buy his wife for that, let alone his support,' the Magister scoffed, but he knew he would take the bribe with him, all the same. It was a small price compared to the profits he stood to make.

The old man coughed, and screwed up his face, clearly in considerable pain. Repulsed by the sight of the bony creature's suffering, Tranaedan nudged up the painkillers some more. 'You are sick, old man. I should call Curan Bathraen.'

'Do not waste your time or your money,' the sensory replied. 'There is nothing any medicine can do for me now.'

As his eyes grew more accustomed to the shadows down there in the bowels of his home, Tranaedan could see the horrendous lumps on the man's face and neck, and the various protuberances all over his skinny body that his threadbare clothes could not conceal. The man was riddled with tumours, and though Tranaedan had done everything in his power to prolong his life, the end had to be quite near. Without the various medicines boosting his strength, he doubted the man would make it through a single day unaided now. He was grotesque, deformed by his illness, but still the most acute sensory in Traginta Duo or any of the other enclosures within the Centum Civis, at least he was as far as he knew. The success he experienced compared to others who purportedly owned one suggested as much. He would sorely miss the man's services once he was gone. With that in mind, he tweaked the sensory's sustenance and medication levels a little higher, determined to milk every last sunrise out of the wretched, doomed little man.

'When are you going to ask the other question that plagues you?' the wizened figure suddenly asked, jolting Tranaedan from his moment of sentimentality.

The fact the man could read him so easily had always troubled the magister, but it was that very ability, that talent of reaching inside other's minds and to see events yet to happen that made him so invaluable. 'You know me too well, Sensory. Who will ever be able to fill the void you will leave with your passing?'

'No one, I hope,' the old man said softly. 'This is no life for anyone, as well you know.'

'Sensory...'

'It's no use making your threatening growls to me. I know you won't do me any real damage because you realise it would only hasten my passage.'

That was true. The sensory was the only slave he allowed to speak freely in his household, and that was only through lack of choice. The man really was so frail that the slightest blow could kill him now. Gone were the days when he could be tortured for the truth. No, it was all done by drugs now, drugs that in themselves weakened him and in turn had to be counteracted with other drugs just to keep his heart beating. Tranaedan wondered if there was any blood in his veins any more considering the various concoctions being pumped through his poor, abused body.

With an angry sigh, he admitted defeat and asked, 'The pilot, the one my wife chose. Will she...will she defile herself with him as she did the others?'

Once again, the sensory screwed his eyes closed in concentration. The effort seemed pure agony for him now, but Tranaedan had to know the answer.

'No,' he eventually replied, not the answer Tranaedan had expected.

'What? Are you sure?' he sputtered, dialling up the truth serum once more.

The old man shuddered, his face crumpling as the poisonous liquid flooded his body and softened his resistance to questions. 'I...I am certain.'

'So, I will not lose my wife to him?'

The man shook his head, bones cracking and popping as he did. 'No, he will not take your wife from you.'

'Still, he is a temptation to her. It can't be mere coincidence that he looks the way he does.'

'The temptation is real, but he will not succumb.'

His fury now bubbling, Tranaedan could barely contain his wrath. 'Then you agree my wife's intentions are not honest?'

'Are they ever?' was the sensory's simple reply.

No, they weren't. Twenty years ago, when he had been a man still in his prime, and she a beauteous young woman, she had seemed to genuinely love him. But since the sickness she had lost any interest she had held for him. Now, she was like a stranger, sometimes, even worse, she looked at him like an enemy. The coldness killed him because he still felt great passion for her, and he hoped that, if he deprived her of any other form of affection, she might eventually come back to him.

'Perhaps I should deal with this new slave as I did the others,' he grumbled through his heartache, knowing full well the sensory would know his true feelings, but covering them all the same.

'You cannot kill the pilot,' the old man croaked, a cough...no...a death rattle spewing forth from his disease-riddled lungs.

Tranaedan grimaced at the sound, both disgusted and saddened by it. Sooner rather than later, he would need to seek that new sensory, but he knew he would never have one as gifted as this one again. Once the man had regained his breath, he asked, 'Why is that?'

'If his blood is on your hands, you will surely die.'

Tranaedan blinked back at him, unable to fathom how his own fate could be so inexorably linked to that of a mere slave. 'Are you certain of that?' he demanded. 'How can he be so important to my future?'

'Even I cannot see everything, but I do know that much. If he dies at your hand, your end will swiftly follow. You must learn to trust those you think cannot be trusted, and be wary of those you think most loyal.'

A shudder ran the length of Tranaedan's spine. The old man had spoken of his death for the first time ever. Not once before this day had he mentioned his mortality. This new slave was dangerous in more ways than one. He would have to be dealt with carefully.

'Your warning is noted,' he stated formally, showing no outward sign of his inner turmoil. Dialling down the stimulants, he allowed the sensory to slip back into unconsciousness before he left him, hanging by the cuffs encircling his wrists and ankles again. That happened more quickly with each visit. He would have to make time to have a meeting with Mercator Ashnael and tell him of his requirements before long. It wouldn't pay to be without a sensory.

As he walked away, the rasping, shallow breaths of his enforced guide echoed down the corridor behind him. Though troubling, they brought him a strange sense of comfort, for while they still haunted these subterranean passageways, the old man was still anchored to this world, not just to the wall of that cell.

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**A/N: So now we've met the sensory, the man who brought them all to Traginta Duo. And there I must leave you for a few days, while Christmas fever takes over my home. Thank you to all of you who have been following and commenting so far, and I wish all those of you who celebrate it, a very Happy Christmas. :)**


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: Here we go again then! I will try to get at least one more chapter up later this week some time, but I won't promise exactly when as it's that family time of year when you get invitations to visit people out of the blue and suddenly your time is no longer your own. Thanks to everyone for the reviews and alerts etc. so far, it's good to feed the muse. :)**

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Elizabeth and her colleagues were guided to another office on the next floor up in the government tower, this one twice as big as the trade minister's comparatively humble accommodation.

Nobody was in the room, and just as before, there was only one seat opposite the desk.

'You know, if I don't get a chair soon, I'm gonna start taking this personally,' Lorne whispered, careful not to say it too loud, and with an amused glint in his grey eyes.

'Well, maybe we can negotiate a few more seats the next time we see the trade minister,' she joked, giving him a playful nudge.

Although they all stood aside to allow her to take the seat, she waited. It wasn't worth sitting down if First Minister Thalaezin was going to walk in any time now. She would only have to force herself to stand again, and she was tired enough as it was.

The first minister actually kept them waiting another ten minutes, something he didn't even apologise for. Though her feathers were well and truly ruffled, Elizabeth pinned on a smile and shook his hand, allowing him to sit before taking up the other seat herself.

'Welcome,' he beamed, making himself comfortable behind his highly polished and elaborately moulded desk. 'My trade minister tells me you have struck a most generous deal with us today. I am always pleased to make friends with whom we can strike up such mutually beneficial relationships.'

'Yes, as am I. But I was wondering if we could get down to the business of my missing personnel now,' she told him, cutting straight to the chase.

'Oh, yes...Minister Falaedin mentioned something about members of your staff going missing. Most unfortunate, but I'm really not sure what we can do to help.'

She smiled again. 'Well, I'm sure an advanced race such as yours would be able to offer us some assistance locating our people.'

'Yes, well of course we'll do what we can, but as I'm sure Trade Minister Falaedin has already told you, we have no log of them entering our city.'

Taking a deep breath, Elizabeth forged on. 'Yes, we're aware of that, but perhaps if someone didn't want you to know they were bringing strangers into the city, there might have been some way of covering the fact?'

'The people of the Centum Civis are not in the habit of kidnapping off-worlders, Dr Weir,' the first minister assured her, clearly offended by the suggestion.

Elizabeth took it in her stride. She'd dealt with far more delicate situations than this before. 'First Minister, I by no means meant to suggest this is a common event on your planet, I feel certain that most of the residents of the Centum Civis are completely law abiding, but our own investigations have shows that they crashed out in one of your...Forbidden Zones?' The first minister nodded that she was correct to call it that. 'And then, after walking a short distance, they were picked up by someone.'

'Picked up by someone?' he repeated, leaning his elbows on his desk and tapping his fingertips together in front of him. 'Are you certain of that? I'm sure you will have heard by now of the indigenous wildlife that inhabit the lands between our cities.'

'We have,' she replied, fixing him with a determined stare. 'But we're convinced that isn't something that happened to them. There was no disturbance of ground where their tracks stopped. If I'm correct, I understand these beasts live underground and tunnel up to catch their prey. I can't help but think that kind of thing would leave traces of its activity.'

He stared at her a moment, taking all that in. She had him beat on that theory, so what would he come up with next?

'Hmmm, that does make it unlikely,' he was forced to agree. 'Then I think the most likely probability is that they were picked up by bandits. We have several living out in the lands between the cities, running the gauntlet with the purraet, a huge, indigenous burrowing animal that lives out in the lands between the cities, and they're very successful.'

'That wouldn't be the crazies who tried to eat one of my colleagues, would it?' Lorne asked from behind her.

Elizabeth waited for his response, shuddering at the thought again. She really didn't want to believe that was a possibility...and there had been no signs of a struggle at all where their footprints disappeared, no blood or shreds of clothing.

'Well, some of them have developed a taste for flesh, so I hear, but I assure you, that again isn't anything we condone in Centum Civis.'

'I should very much hope not!' Elizabeth sputtered.

Thalaezin leaned back casually in his seat, slipping off his glasses and sucking on the arm thoughtfully for a moment. 'Of course,' he suddenly piped up, jabbing that same spectacle arm toward them now, 'it is quite possible that these bandits took your people off-world. That would explain why no one had seen any sign of them.'

'Is there a trade in people around this region of the galaxy?' she asked.

'Oh, there is a market for most things, I think you'll find,' he smirked, making her shudder again. There was something quite decidedly creepy about this man, and despite the plausibility of what he was saying, she still didn't completely trust him.

'Well, you can imagine how difficult it would be for us to trace our people if that's the case,' she replied, straightening up in her seat to deliver her terms. 'So if you would be so kind as to grant us access to your cities, we'll make some enquiries to find out if any of your citizens saw anything useful in their travels.'

He didn't look too pleased that she was pushing for a free pass, but she pushed him again. 'Of course, once our people are found and we're returning home, we will reciprocate the offer. You're welcome to see where we live.'

He lifted his chin, his piercingly pale blue eyes drilling into her as if trying to read her thoughts. 'All right, Dr Weir,' he said, conceding in the face of her dogged determination. 'Do whatever you need to do to prepare and I will ensure you and you people are furnished with the permissions necessary to find your people. I feel confident that you'll find nothing amiss in the Centum Civis.'

'Well, although that would mean my people would still be missing, I hope you're right. Mistrust is a very uncertain footing on which to be in any kind of relationship, don't you think?'

His smile faltered for just a moment, then broadened into something she could only describe as fake. 'I completely agree, Dr Weir. Now let me find someone to show you the way back to your ship and I will make all the arrangements necessary for your search.'

Elizabeth rose from her seat and allowed him to steer her out of the office, wondering why she suddenly had the feeling he couldn't wait to be rid of her.

oooOOOooo

At Curan Bathraen's home, Rodney paced. He'd realised now that rescue was going to be a slow affair with so many cities and so many dangerous areas of high magnetism on the planet's surface for the rescue teams to negotiate, but time wasn't a luxury they had, at least not Sheppard and Ronon. He needed to do something to draw their troops to Traginta Duo, which would at least narrow down the search area. But what could he do?

Bathraen had gone on to explain a lot of things about the Centum Civis and the rest of this peculiar planet during their conversation the previous evening. The government apparently took a big brother approach to ruling their society, ensuring there was no movement between cities or even off world without prior permission. That was because there were people who dwelled outside of the law, people who had, for one reason or another, been cast out of the cities and had set up homes out in the lands between. Over time, the constant fight for survival out there had warped them, and now they could not be allowed to move within the city enclosures or wreak havoc on other planets. And then there were apparently the monsters, too, though he was less inclined to believe those tales. Giant moles if the descriptions Bathraen had given him were anything to go by. Even he refused to be intimidated by stories of blind, underground rodents. No, no matter how much he thought about it, the mole thing just sounded like a story to scare the kids. And somehow, the cities repelled them...conveniently...while gates kept out the crazies who had been deemed unfit for city life. He supposed that meant the shield Bathraen had told him extended over the city worked to protect them beneath ground level, too.

Not that it was truly safe within the walls either. During the day, many kept up the facade of nobility, and a society in control of its own destiny, but that was all it was – a smokescreen. Violence lurked behind the closed doors of these imperious households, cruelty and depravity, all of which had worsened since the illness that had left almost the entire population of the city sterile. And that violence had led to an increase in crime, the wealthy stealing from the wealthy to increase their tiny empires. Owners abusing their slaves to the point they felt forced to escape despite knowing they could face a death penalty if caught. All of that meant he and Bathraen couldn't creep about the streets at night due to the dangers posed by those prisoners, desperate for food and money or just to stay hidden, so there would be no attempting to sneak-a-peek at either of his enslaved colleagues to ensure their well-being. Bathraen had told him he'd been called out to certify the deaths of people who had been foolish enough to wander out after sunset on many occasions, and it was never pretty. Escaped slaves and the mentally unstable, who had so far avoided eviction from the cities, rarely showed any mercy to the upper classes.

Of course, he wasn't in the upper classes. Here, he was slave class – he even had the bracelets to prove it. Would they show him more mercy? More importantly, did he have the courage to test the theory?

But he wasn't really a slave; he stopped and looked around at the room his "master" had allocated to him. It had a comfortable and clean bed, a desk for him to work at along with this planet's version of a computer terminal, which Bathraen had installed for him, and even had an open fire burning in the elegant if small fireplace. It wasn't Atlantis, but it was a pretty close second.

Which led him to wondering what things were like for Sheppard and Ronon, and for Teyla, scraping by in the ruined town in the enclosure they'd seen just before the crash, right in the middle of that magnetised area. Just an hour or so walking across that area had made them all feel ill, how she must be feeling now didn't bear thinking about either, even if she was safe from the government assassins. And Atlantis needed to find her just as much as they need to find Sheppard and Ronon. The threat to her life and limb weren't as immediate, but if she stayed there those levels of electromagnetism would make her sick...real sick. It would take a while, but if they weren't found for years...and he was beginning to think that was a distinct possibility...the effects on her immune system would be devastating. His appetite and sense of self-preservation rarely suffered, but even he couldn't help but feel sullied by the injustice of the relative luxury he found himself in when his friends were kept subjugated.

There had to be something he could do to speed up their rescue and save his friends from further suffering... He started to pace again, preferring movement to lingering thoughts of just how bad things could be getting for them all.

When he heard a knock at his door, he immediately bid Bathraen enter, grateful for the interruption. His brain had been in overdrive for hours now, and if he didn't stop thinking for at least a short while, he would drive himself insane.

'Dr McKay, I thought I heard you moving about. Is something troubling you?'

'Other than the fact two of my friends could be having the crap kicked out of them as we speak, while the other one is dying by degrees, no, not really,' he huffed, irritated by the stupidity of the doctor's question.

Curan Bathraen stepped further into the room, sitting down in a seat set beside a desk there. 'I know it must seem like I don't care about your friends Dr, McKay, but I do. And if there was any way I could think of to safely get you all off the planet I would. But with the eyes of the government always upon us, we must be wary.'

'What about telling the government you need to go pick up some medicines from another city? That way we could get whatever permissions we need to get out of here, head to the Stargate and I could show the rescue teams where everyone is. That'll work!'

'It would if I were permitted to use the Stargate, which I'm not.'

Rodney gaped at him, open-mouthed. 'What...why not?

'The small matter of a difference of opinions,' Bathraen said dismissively. 'Unfortunately, it means I am not permitted to travel outside of the city any more.'

'Okay,' Rodney sighed. 'So...we transmit a radio message from within the city and hope some Atlantis personnel are on the planet to hear it.'

'Another good idea, except our government monitors every outgoing radio message and could then locate you...'

'Why do you think that's such a problem? I mean, your government obviously wants to find a solution. We could go to the government and tell them what happened...the jumper crash and then Ashnael selling us all off into slavery, and in return for their help we could offer...a...cure...' He stammered to a halt since Bathraen was now steadily shaking his head, pinching the bridge of his nose as if frustrated by his constant chatter. He'd seen that reaction before, usually from Ronon. 'So the government's a definite no then?'

'They will not believe you. Most races in the Pegasus Galaxy are far behind us in terms of progress. We have never encountered anyone who could offer that kind of assistance. They would think you were lying to gain your freedom and then they would take you away from me and induct you into their programme.'

'Oh...' Rodney sank down onto the edge of his bed. 'That would be a problem...So what about the shields? Maybe if you could take me to one of the generators I could figure out a way to disable it, then we could just fly out of here, right?'

Bathraen nodded. 'Indeed we could. But the generators are hidden underground and heavily guarded. If you know of some way we can bypass that problem, I am more than willing to show you where they are.'

His hopes now thoroughly deflated, Rodney dropped his head into his hands. 'No...I'm no good at that kind of thing. If Sheppard or Ronon were here, they'd know what to do, but I'm...I'm more brain than brawn.'

Bathraen released a deep, shuddering sigh. 'This is all such a terrible mess. It would have been better if you had just not come here.'

'Well, that's one thing we agree on,' McKay muttered, raking a trembling hand back through his hair. 'Maybe you're just getting used to the idea of having a slave to help out around the place. Where should I start...maybe I could sweep out your fireplaces?'

The look Bathraen shot him was one of both hurt and anger. 'I already told you, Dr McKay. You are not a slave.'

'Really? Funny, but these apparently say otherwise,' he snorted, clinking his metal cuffs together.

'I explained – they are merely for show. I will never use them against you.'

'No, but other people can. Ashnael did.' His lip was still swollen and smarted like crazy as he ranted, but Rodney wasn't about to let that deter him. He was in full stressed out mode and he needed to vent it, though it did make him hiss and check for blood.

'Yes...yes, that is unfortunate. But for you to appear to the city people as any other slave you must wear them. If you keep a low profile, try not to draw attention to yourself, you should be able to avoid further trouble.

'You mean, if I act subservient...kind of like a slave?' McKay snapped, bringing a rush of shamed colour to the man's cheeks.

'That's not what I meant.'

'No, but it's the truth. If I want to survive this, I have to play by your society's rules. I have to be a slave.'

'I suppose...'

'So why can't I go to the government? Seems like they're pretty interested in keeping crime down with the walls and the gates and everything else they've put in place to monitor your people. I only have your word about what would happen if I did.'

Bathraen sighed again, this time crossing to the window to look at the setting sun. 'Because this is one crime they would only make worse. They are desperate people desperate to show our problems are within their control to solve. And they will use just about any means to prove that. I'm not lying about that, Dr McKay. I really do not wish to see you drawn into that terrible life. '

Rodney stared at his back, the kernel of doubt he'd always carried about Curan Bathraen now for some reason growing. The man was saying all the right things, claiming to want to protect him. But he couldn't help feeling he was also becoming a stumbling block to any plan he thought might work. Yet he did seem genuinely appalled by the slavery on the planet, and had shown him nothing but respect and kindness. Why was he getting the feeling there was more to Bathraen's reticence than purely fear for his safety? Sometimes he really hated having such a suspicious mind.

The physician turned back toward where he sat now, his face etched with sadness. 'Things are complicated here on Haraendon, Dr McKay, far more complicated than you can imagine. Like I said, we had no idea there were other societies out there as advanced as ours. Others we've encountered have promised help and failed. The government simply will not believe you...and I will not see you lost to that depraved programme.'

Much as he was feeling angry and betrayed, McKay knew his bravery didn't extend to potentially being pawed by some pompous, overfed government scientist who viewed him as nothing more than a sperm donor. He was the only one of his team in any position to seek help; he simply couldn't risk his relative freedom. In an instant, his resolve to approach the government melted. 'But there has to be some way of speeding up the search,' Rodney whimpered. 'I can't just sit here and do nothing.'

Bathraen slapped his hand on Rodney's shoulder. 'We will think of something, of that I am certain. After all, Ashnael sold you to me as a genius.'

The man's gentle humour did little to placate McKay's growing discomfort with the situation. He missed his team, particularly Sheppard's cutting wit and Ronon's death glares. They always kept him on his toes and his brain cells firing on all cylinders. Here, sheltered from danger, he felt lethargic and depressed. He didn't need kindness, he needed his friends, and he needed to get them all back to Atlantis.

Bathraen left him, believing him to be pacified for the time being. But Rodney McKay wasn't so easy to pacify, and his brain kicked in again, desperately scrolling through the data he now had for the inkling of an escape route that would bring this nightmare to an end.

oooOOOooo

After first piloting Magister Tranaedan to his meeting, then spending the next several hours scrubbing and polishing up the craft for the next use, Sheppard was ready to collapse into his bed and damn the consequences.

The flight had been a tense affair. He had to admit that Magister Tranaedan was the epitome of intimidating, but he was never one to back down from an alpha male confrontation. So, after much growling of orders and posturing, Tranaedan had won out by securing him in an impossibly uncomfortable position in the cockpit of the craft by his magnetic cuffs and leaving him that way until he'd returned some considerable time later. Stress positions were apparently his speciality.

The aching in his joints was still bothering him now, along with his various cuts, bruises and burns. He hadn't had time to recover, not even time to eat since they'd returned, with Tranaedan looking infuriatingly pleased with himself, which he supposed meant the man's business meeting had gone well. Sheppard had felt like punching him square in the face, but what would have been the point? A moment of satisfaction would have led to hours of punishment, or worse. The sight of the gruesome artwork lurking in Tranaedan's gallery popped into his head unbidden, making his stomach lurch involuntarily. Okay, so maybe he wasn't _that_ hungry after all.

He headed up the dimly lit stone staircase, the one reserved for servants, using the metal rail to haul himself up, each step sapping a little more of his flagging endurance. He was seriously down on his sleep now; just one good night, that was all he needed to get his head clear enough to think and feel strong enough to act.

So when he opened his door and found Magistra Tranaedan draped across his bed, lying on a silk sheet she'd brought with her to cover his rough woven blanket, he couldn't stop the eye roll his discovery elicited. 'Oh, you _really _shouldn't be here...'

'Careful, Jadrael. Anyone would think you're not pleased to see me,' she purred, apparently amused by his reaction.

He pouted, now noticing the bowl of water and meagre meal someone had left in his room for him. His stomach grumbled at the sight of it, and now he _did _feel hungry again.

'Where have you been?' she asked casually, smoothing out the sheet around her. 'I've been waiting a long time for you.'

Although her question reminded him of a bad pick up line, he bit back the urge to crack a joke in that vein. 'Well, sorry you had a pointless wait, but if you don't mind, I'd like to get some rest now,' he grunted, planting his hands on his hips in challenge.

She took in his appearance from head to toe, his clothes now grubby from his work. 'Yes, you do look a little shabby. Perhaps if you cleaned up you would feel a little fresher. In fact, your new uniforms have arrived. Raelzine put them in your closet for you. I bet if you washed and put on some clean clothes you would feel wide awake again.'

'Or perhaps if I got some sleep...' His suggestion petered out as she slipped her cattle prod from her pocket and extended it, sliding her hand suggestively up and down its shaft. His throat dried.

'You sleep when I tell you to,' she said more firmly, her blue eyes burning into him. 'And it isn't time yet.'

His heart sinking, Sheppard anxiously chewed his lip before forcing himself to stop. He didn't need her to see how unsettled she had him, not since he was going to have to stand his ground.

'Look, I'm not sure exactly what you were expecting here...' He looked around spotting a few extra candles, scented if he wasn't mistaken along with a bottle of wine and two glasses on his rudimentary nightstand. 'Although I have a pretty good idea,' he confessed. 'I was bought to be a pilot, right? I've done that to the best of my abilities, and was happy to do it...kind of. You're not getting anything else from me, no matter how hard you try.'

Magistra Tranaedan swung her legs around and off the bed now so she was sitting up and facing him. The loose fitting silk dress she wore slipped from her shoulder, revealing her preference for an expanse of white skin. 'There seems to be a misunderstanding here, Jadrael. Let me clarify things for you. I am the owner, and you are the slave. You would do well to remember who is in charge,' she smirked.

He gave her a crooked smile of his own. 'That would be Magister Tranaedan, right?' he shot back, instantly knocking the smile from her smug face.

'What has he said to you?' she demanded, standing and pressing in close to him.

Unhappy with the invasion of his space, he backed off a step before answering. 'It wasn't so much what he said...' he confessed, 'more what he showed me. Let's put it this way; what he'll do to me if I get caught with you makes that buzzy little stick of yours look pretty insignificant.'

She glared at him, clearly furious to have lost whatever ground she thought she'd made with him the other night. 'Don't make the mistake of underestimating me, Jadrael. There are far worse things I can do to you than this.' She waved the cattle prod under his nose and he felt the tingle of its electrical charge.

He jerked back away from it, pushing her hand away and grasping her wrist. 'I said no.'

Stunned by his audacity, she stuck him with her free hand. He let go, but held her gaze.

'You need to learn some respect,' she warned him.

'I know what respect is, but I only show it to people who deserve it,' he growled. 'Now get out of my room.'

She pressed in on him again. 'You dare to speak to me that way?'

Her cheeks were florid with anger now, and he sensed he was pushing his luck, but he'd had just about as much of the Tranaedans and their games as he could take for one day. Magistra Tranaedan seemed the safer option when it came to defiance, and she was also the one who was currently asking for way more than he was willing to give.

'You know what...I do. And if you have a problem with that, I suggest you take it up with your husband. I imagine he'll be real interested to hear how I spurned your advances...again.'

They continued to stare one another down, neither one willing to give way to the other's wishes. Then, a worrying glint sparked in Magistra Tranaedan's eye.

'Very well. If you wish to be a pilot, then a pilot you shall be. I need to go to Sedicim tonight. Eat your...food, get washed and changed, and meet me at my craft. And don't keep me waiting.'

'Tonight?' His tried not to slump at the suggestion, but he was way past tired now, and no doubt she knew it. 'Didn't you learn anything from what happened to Magistra Callaedin yesterday?'

'We're not landing anywhere out of the way. I have paperwork to get me out of this city and into Sedicim to visit a sick friend. We'll be landing in a populated and patrolled area. Nothing will happen.'

'A sick friend? And this can't wait until morning?' he asked, knowing what her answer would be.

'As you pointed out, you were bought to be a pilot. Surely you're not going to tell me you have a problem with doing that now, too?'

Sheppard had no come back to that. He couldn't refuse to do his duty. 'I'll be there,' he told her, though he didn't know where he'd find the strength.

She snatched up her sheet and strode confidently past him, stopping only long enough to jab him in the rear with her cattle prod. 'Just a friendly reminder to be quick,' she told him as he jumped at the contact, muttering expletives under his breath. And then she was gone.

Rubbing away the stinging sensation, Sheppard gingerly sat on the edge of his mattress and slipped out of his vest to wash himself clean before eating and redressing. That woman might not be quite as violent as her husband, but she had her own ways of wearing people down. He sponged his face with the washcloth provided with the clean but cold water, holding it on his hot face. It seared with frustration and annoyance, but the coolness of the damp rag soothed away his temper. Why couldn't he have been put to work in one of the factories or agricultural sites they'd passed when heading to market the other day? Labouring in a place like that was somehow less demeaning...less personal. There, he would have been just one of dozens of faceless minions just doing what they were told. But no; Ashnael had been very interested to hear about his pilot experience. He'd obviously been lining him up for this position all through the meal they'd shared.

So what of his friends? Rodney had described himself as a genius. That didn't exactly narrow down where he might have been placed, and Teyla had said she and Ronon just did what was required of them. Smart old Teyla; she hadn't given anything about herself away that might help Ashnael to choose any specifically suitable role. Hopefully, she was in one of those factories or farms. He hated to think that she might be in a household, working under the lustful gaze of some perverse old man...

That seriously was not helping his temper to cool. Taking a deep breath to calm himself, he finished cleaning his upper body and decided that would do. Next, he wolfed down the food one of his servant friends had left for him. Nutritionally, there wasn't much of any value on the plate, but it gave him the calories he needed to keep going for a few more hours. He laughed into his chest as he ate. A few more hours? Who was he kidding? When he got back he'd have to clean that ridiculously oversized craft, which meant he'd be up all night again. Unless...

He realised then that Magistra Tranaedan had said they were travelling to another city. Another city meant they would be outside of the walls, and if they were outside of the walls, he could get to the Stargate.

Suddenly a night out on the town with the demanding Mrs Tranaedan developed a certain amount of appeal.

**Chapter 14 **


	15. Chapter 15

****

A/N: A quick thanks to those of you still following the story and sharing your thoughts. I hope you enjoy today's instalment. :)

* * *

**Chapter 15**

Magistra Tranaedan looked genuinely pleased to see Sheppard sitting on the steps of her transport when she arrived in the hangar. She cast an appreciative eye over his new clothes, which admittedly fitted him far better than Manstaen's old garments had, but still had a cheap and tacky sheen to the fabric that left him embarrassed to be seen in public. Still, from what he'd seen while out with both her and the magister, these kinds of clothes were what was expected of someone in his position when piloting, so he figured he just had to suck it up and accept that no one else was thinking he looked like an extra from Miami Vice, even if that was exactly what he felt like.

The magistra had dressed up for her journey, too, and was buttoning her heavy, blue fitted coat over another off the shoulder number, this time a glitzy ivory coloured piece that clung in all the right places. She looked good, there was no denying she was in fine shape, but there was something indisputably ugly about the way she wielded her power within the household, a vindictiveness no amount of makeup and finery could disguise.

She stood before him, the porcelain skin of her shoulders exposed just as always, her lips painted full and red, and broke into an approving smile. 'You did as asked, Jadrael. You see how painless that was?'

'Painless. Interesting choice of words,' Sheppard mused, standing up now and climbing aboard to give her assistance.

She accepted his offered hand and boarded the craft, taking up the passenger seat while he closed the hatch and then joined her in the cockpit. She turned her seat toward him, narrowing down the space between it and the pilot's chair, thus making it awkward for him to pass. His legs brushed against hers as he squeezed through the gap, but he didn't acknowledge the contact, just got on with prepping the ship for flight.

She slipped a clear disc into a slot in the control panel in front of him. 'Those are the directions to our destination. You'll need to activate it once we're out of the city.' Then she triggered the hangar ramp, and Sheppard gently took the craft up and over the others, sweeping them out into the darkness of the city beyond the limits of the Tranaedan household.

Sheppard manoeuvred through the quiet streets toward where he knew the gates to lie. Beside him, Magistra Tranaedan smoothed herself out, running fingers through her sleek brown hair and arranging herself until she felt she looked her best. He paid her little attention, seeing it all from the corner of his eye, but getting on with the job at hand without passing comment. He did wonder who all the effort was for, pondering the thought that her sick friend wasn't necessarily of the female persuasion. But then, knowing the routine they would have to go through to get into the next city, it seemed pointless straightening her hair now for her "friend's" benefit. So that meant it was either for the facilitators at this gate, or for him. Yeah, okay, he was being naive thinking it was about anyone but him, he was big enough to admit that to himself.

'Here are the papers to get us out,' she told him, passing him a small bundle of documents. 'And don't even think about trying to get help from these people. If you think life with me is bad, you really don't want to fall into the hands of the government.'

Though he had to wonder if that might be a hollow threat, something in his gut told him she might be telling the truth, so he dutifully handed over the permissions to the facilitators and they drew back the gates to set them on their way.

Once outside of the city walls, Magistra Tranaedan unbuttoned her coat and slipped it off, yet another thing Sheppard deliberately ignored.

'I hope you don't mind,' she said sweetly, 'but this is quite a long flight and I'm a little warm in here.'

'I can turn the temperature down,' he offered without missing a beat.

'No...no need.'

She pulled a compact from her bag and powdered her already over powdered nose. Then she sprayed some of her overwhelming perfume, and he tried hard not to cough.

After a few moments of silence, in which he felt his eyes growing heavy, she attempted to strike up a conversation with him.

'Why don't you tell me about your people, Jadrael?' she suggested, sitting back in her seat now and putting her feet up on the dash in front of her. He skirts slid up revealing slender, firm calves. Okay, so she had good legs. That was no reason to feel any friendlier toward her.

He slid a hand over his face to wake himself up and surreptitiously nudged down the heat, hoping it would ward off his threatening exhaustion and make his companion cover up again. 'Well, I come from one of the Eastern most cities in the Centum Civis. Apparently, the household I served in was pretty lax, hence my tendency toward rebellion,' he drawled, keeping an eye on the controls. The ship could pretty much navigate itself now he'd set the directions running, but might still require human intervention should any unexpected obstacles crop up. He couldn't completely relax...for more reasons than one.

'I meant _your_ people,' she told him, though she smiled at his quip all the same.

'Oh, I'm sorry. I guess I misunderstood, especially since you called me Jadrael.'

'All right, _John. _Now tell me about your people,' she coaxed, using his own name for the first time.

The sound of it gave him a boost, strengthening his bond with his real identity somehow. He ventured a glance at her, finding her attention focussed intensely on him. So, she really wanted to know? Well, he wasn't about to give her the truth.

'I come from a planet a long way from here...We're under threat from the empire, but we've formed a rebellion to fight back and drive out their invading forces.'

'Sounds terribly exciting,' she chirped. 'So, you're a soldier not just an explorer?'

'I'm a pilot, but I fight when I need to.'

She nodded, a new sort of admiration lighting her eyes. 'Such bravery. What kind of ship do you fly?'

'It's called the Millennium Falcon. It doesn't look like much, but it's the fastest hunk o' junk in the galaxy.' He suppressed a smirk the memory of those lines awoke, happy that she was buying his lies.

'And were you winning the war?'

'Well, we had a slight advantage, especially since we have The Force with us. But those Dark Side guys sure know how to give us a run for our money.'

'The Force.'

'Yeah. It's a long story...very complicated,' he told her with an apologetic smile. 'They should make a movie about it.'

'A movie?'

He shook his head. 'Never mind,' he muttered, realising he'd taken the joke about as far as it could go.

From the corner of his eye, he noticed she had her hand resting in her purse, and clutched in her grip was the control for his cuffs. Apparently, she didn't trust him as far as she could throw him. It didn't look like he was going to get much chance to rebel right at this point in time. Not unless she let go of that control._ It is not time to escape,_ the voice in his mind told him, but he was done listening to it now. It had led him into enough trouble already.

'Are the women pretty where you come from?'

Oh, she just had to steer the conversation around in that direction, didn't she? He thought about Teyla with her honey toned hair and perfect skin, Elizabeth with her slender elegance and her deep brown curls...oh, yeah, and the cute little brunette in the botany team, with the nice – 'Uh, yeah. Some of them,' he admitted.

'And your team...the ones you spoke of when we first met...are they all as attractive as you?'

He snorted out a laugh. 'Why, thinking of trading me in for another model?'

She shrugged, looking away out of the window. 'Well, so far your performance has been less than satisfactory. I could return you to Ashnael and ask to swap you for one of the others.'

His good humour now suddenly evaporating, Sheppard's anger flared. 'Is that where they are? Are they still with him?'

She looked a little shocked at the force behind his question, her feet slipping from the dash as she straightened up. He saw her grip tighten on the control, as if she thought she might have to use it. 'I don't know. It was just a joke.'

'Very funny,' he grunted, noticing now just how white his knuckles were as he grasped the steering controls. He loosened his hold, allowing the blood to rush back into his deprived extremities.

'I haven't given up on you just yet, John. I still think you might prove worth the money I paid.'

'You'd better hope so. I got the impression you paid a lot.'

She shrugged. 'What I told Magistra Callaedin was only a fraction of your true price. But it was my husband's money and he has plenty of it.'

'Well, then maybe you could pay for someone else's services and leave me to being a pilot,' he suggested, throwing her a warning look – one she clearly didn't want to return. She looked away, out of the window again, and didn't answer him. That got him wondering. Were they going to a friend's house, or had she already decided to do what he'd just suggested. God help her if Magister Tranaedan found out.

For just a moment, he considered making a grab for her purse while her attention was diverted, but just as he was about to try she moved it to her side, keeping the fob well within her grasp. He figured he could take her to wherever they were headed, let her get whatever she was scheming out of her system, then make his attempt for freedom on the way home when there was even less traffic than there was now and she might be a little less on her guard. They didn't pass many craft, but every now and again he would see lights and knew someone was nearby. Hopefully, traffic here was just the same as on Earth, and it thinned out during the dark hours. It certainly did within the cities, so he saw no reason it should be different outside the walls. He could wait a few hours until his was less likely to be seen making a bid for freedom; it might give him the time to think of a good way to distract her.

'You don't think much of me do you, John?' the Magistra suddenly asked, her eyes flashing with anger as she looked across at him.

He had to wonder why she cared, but he wasn't about to lie to her. 'Not really, no.'

'You have no idea what I'm like...what I've been through in my life,' she snapped, sitting forward and leaning into him.

He arched an eyebrow, and smirked. 'So, the spoiled little rich girl thinks I should listen to her sob story? Well, thanks...but no thanks.'

She caught hold of his arm, tugging on it like an insistent child, desperate for attention. 'I'm not really like that. My life...it hasn't always been this way...'

'Tell someone who cares,' he grumbled.

She launched, snatching hold of his face and forcing him to make eye contact with her.

'I want_ you_ to care!'

For a second his head spun and he thought his exhaustion was going to claim him. He fixed her with an icy look, and she released him, shrinking back into her seat.

Without a word, he returned his gaze to the view out of the windshield, but his heart pounded against his ribs. She wanted him...really wanted him. But why him? And no, he wasn't dumb enough to think he was just that special. There was more to her desperation than sex. This was bigger than that.

'Why don't you tell me what this is really about?' he asked, still not looking at her.

He heard her panting beside him, apparently trying not to cry. Cry? Really? Nothing he'd said or done was that bad, surely?

'I don't know what you mean,' she snuffled, dipping into her purse for a handkerchief to dab away her tears. But she still kept her hand clamped shut around that control.

'You're a woman of wealth. If you want to sleep with people, I'm thinking you have enough money to pay them to keep their mouths shut. So why me?'

'Because you're mine. I paid for you.'

He threw her a death glare, and she shrank a little deeper into her seat. 'That's not it,' he growled, calling her bluff.

Unfortunately, Magistra Tranaedan had no intention of explaining herself to him. 'My motivations are none of your business. Now fly this ship to the coordinates I gave you. You claim you just want to be a pilot, now shut your mouth and get on with the job.'

So he did, the rest of the flight continuing in uncomfortable silence.

After a while, Sheppard saw an orange glow on the horizon, and realised from their current course that it had to be the lights from within Sedicim. As they approached the gates, he slowed the craft down and drew up alongside the communication device at the entranceway.

'Here, let me,' Magistra Tranaedan said, leaning across him to programme a code into their system and transmit it. Apparently, her ship was a little more high tech than Ashnael's, and it gave her the perfect excuse to lean a steadying hand on his thigh as she did it. Convenient.

Code sent, the gates began to slowly swing back, and he steered the craft in.

After passing through the same decontamination sequence as he had on entering Traginta Duo, they were back on board the ship, Magistra Tranaedan now brushing her hair and reapplying her makeup to ensure she looked her best.

When Sheppard took them through the final stages of the journey, they drew up outside a somewhat gaudy looking building, covered in a gothic style metal exoskeleton, well lit and buzzing with activity. He jumped out and assisted Magistra Tranaedan down to the street, gaining a few catcalls from some bawdy looking females leaning out of one of the upper windows.

'Looking for some company? I'll give you a free sample,' a particularly well endowed blonde shouted down to him, followed by the cackles of her cronies.

Before he could toss back a retort of his own, Magistra Tranaedan called up to them. 'I'm sorry to disappoint you, ladies. But this one belongs to me.'

Sheppard clamped his mouth shut to stop himself reacting to that line. He really hated the way she'd said that. His angry breaths plumed away in the chilly night air, the only real sign of his annoyance.

The women muttered questions about why she was there when she had someone like him, but he ignored them, watching as a middle-aged man scurried out of the arched and pillared doorway and took hold of Magistra Tranaedan's hand, planting a kiss on it. 'Magistra Philaedan. Wonderful to see you again. Come inside out of the cold. The young man you requested is waiting for you.'

She followed the man a few steps before stopping and calling back, 'Are you coming with me , Jadrael? It's much warmer inside, and I promise to be discreet.'

Though his natural reaction was _Oh, hell no! _he managed to force out a more agreeable, 'No, thank you, Magistra Tr...Philaedan. I'll wait here for you.'

'Very well.' Without looking back, she activated his cuffs and he slammed against the side of the craft, stuck fast. 'I'll try not to be long,' she shouted as she entered the bright and cosy looking building.

'Yeah, you couldn't have left me inside the ship,' he grunted, knowing full well this was punishment for yet another refusal.

The metal was cold against his back through his thin suit, making the burn on his shoulder ache. To add to his woes, a couple of the "friendly" ladies from upstairs decided to pop down and join him, poking fun at his situation.

'Cold night to be stuck out here, sweetie. Need someone to keep you warm?'

'No, thank you. I'm good,' he smiled, though he was already shivering.

'Well, we'll stick around for a while. Keep an eye on you. Wouldn't want anything bad to happen to this lovely face, would we?' his buxom admirer chirped, planting a lipstick-laden kiss on his cheek.

'Really...there's no need. Wouldn't want you ladies catching a cold,' he insisted.

'Oh, don't you worry about us, sweetie. We'll get ourselves warmed up a bit later when some fat pocketed gentleman comes along,' she told him. 'But this here's no place for a pretty little pilot like you. Can't understand what your owner was thinking leaving you out here like that.'

'Well, she did offer to take me inside...'

'Oh, I bet she did,' the other, thinner woman cackled, elbowing her chum. 'I'd offer the same if I had one of them controllers to set you loose with.'

He smiled, figuring if this was as bad as they got it was harmless enough. And he actually didn't mind having the company. There were a couple of unsavoury looking men hanging around who were paying an unhealthy amount of attention to him and exuded an air of trouble. Not that he had to worry; when one of them ventured a little closer, Busty all but chased him off.

'Don't you worry yourself, sweetie. Old Maerla'll take care of you,' she told him, giving him a wink as she pulled a thick, woollen shawl in tight around her shoulders.

'Thanks,' he smiled again, figuring she might not be such bad company after all.

He leaned back against the ship and relaxed as best he could, his companions chattering away and regaling him with bawdy stories of the various folks about that evening and some of the unsavoury things they'd been asked to do. Their friendly, if earthy, chatter lulled him despite his circumstances and his mind now so addled by lack of sleep, Sheppard slipped into his dream without even realising...

_...feeling the sensation of motion beneath his feet as he squinted into the brilliant sun. He couldn't see all that well, and he felt certain it wasn't just the light shining in his eyes making it that way. And he was cold, his hair slightly damp, along with his clothes...a white shirt, brown trousers, knee high black boots...and a nifty set of wrist restraints cuffing his hands together behind his back. Okay...so when did that all happen?_

_Sensing someone behind him, he turned to find a decidedly hairy Ronon standing at his shoulder, similarly restrained. Then, to his left, he spotted someone else...someone dressed in black. It was Lorne, and he gave him a crooked grin._

_'Looks like we're in trouble again, Sir.'_

_'Uh...yeah...where are we?'_

_'Not sure, Colonel. This is your dream...you tell me.'_

_Sheppard looked around again at Ronon, who uttered a strangely high-pitched rolling growl._

_'You're kidding...right?' Sheppard asked him. They were on a small vessel flying alongside the vast sail barge he'd seen in Return of the Jedi...and that meant they were heading somewhere he'd really rather not go._

_Ronon just shrugged and let out a more plaintive call._

_When the craft slowed to a halt, Lorne was prodded to the end of a plank extending from their craft, ready to become Sarlacc fodder. A strangely tinny yet familiar voice announced their sentence in words he'd heard so many times he could recite them from memory...in fact, he supposed he was since this was all in his unconscious mind. Then, it all kicked off as the major executed a fantastic turn as he dropped and caught the plank, followed by catapulting himself back through the air and catching a lightsaber that had been fired from the gigantic sail barge beside them, first freeing Sheppard from his bonds, then letting loose on the enemy guards._

_'Well, this is just great! We've followed you into a trap and now we're all screwed!' _

_Sheppard, who had just freed Ronon from his restraints, eyed the golden robot that had hobbled into view on the sail barge, recognising the voice of not the form. 'McKay?'_

_'Well, of course,' the stiff jointed, bad tempered droid spat. 'Who else would you make into an anally retentive, crotchety robot?'_

_'Well, now you come to mention it...'_

_Ronon snorted out a Wookie laugh, batting a guard unconscious with a hairy mitt and swiping his gun._

_'Don't know why I even considered you might let me be Luke. No, off course it would have to be Lorne or one of your military buddies. You all get to be the heroes while I'm cast as the comedy figure...as usual!'_

_'To be fair, there's no way you could have pulled off the move Lorne just made. Besides I think being a droid suits you...and I get to call you "Golden Rod",' Sheppard smirked, trying not to laugh._

_The droid's eyes glowed a hot shade of red, which Sheppard figured was as close to a glare as those headlamps got. 'Oh, har, har. My sides...they're splitting. Seriously, you couldn't have just let me be a hero for once?'_

_'Well...it is my dream,' Sheppard pouted._

_'It wouldn't be so bad if there were at least some hot gir...oh my!'_

_Sheppard was about to compliment McKay on getting into character at last when he realised the droid was now looking away from him. He followed the McKaybot's gaze to see Teyla in full Princess Leia slave garb emerging onto the sail barge deck, a little breathless and very underdressed. 'Colonel, this really does not seem appropriate attire for launching an escape bid,' she protested. 'Was there not a more suitable part you could have imagined for me?'_

_Sheppard just gaped and did his best not to drool down his already damp shirtfront._

_A garbled scream cut the air, and Ronon growled something throaty that Sheppard inexplicably understood to mean someone was in trouble. The craft lurched and the colonel fell forward, almost disappearing into the pit himself, but Ronon caught his feet as they were about to depart the side of the ship and held onto them for all he was worth. Sheppard peered into the abyss and spotted someone sliding down the sands beneath them into a quivering, toothy, salivating, many-tentacled maw. Thrusting out his right hand, he yelled for them to take it._

_The greenish white feeding hand that reached for his soon had him snatching it back, though. 'What the –'_

_'Come, John Sheppard, we are brothers, you and I. Surely you will not let me fall foul of this beast?'_

_'Actually, I was thinking about it...' he admitted._

_The Wraith he'd subconsciously labelled as Todd because of his resemblance to someone he'd known at university looked genuinely surprised by that reply. 'But I saved your life!'_

_'The way I recall it, we saved each other, then decided all bets were off.'_

_A tentacle wriggled up from the Sarlacc's mouth and wrapped around Todd's ankle, tugging him a few inches further toward danger. The Wraith cried out and Sheppard felt a prick of conscience. 'Chewy, pass me a gun.'_

_Ronon rumbled something in response, but did as asked, passing Sheppard his particle magnum. 'Sweet!' he breathed, raising it toward his target._

_'A little higher!' the Wraith protested, ducking his head._

_'I haven't figured out which of the two of you I'm going to shoot yet,' Sheppard told him, moving the gun between the tentacle and the Wraith's struggling form as he tried to make his choice._

_'Then in case you decide I am the one to die this day, let me give you my message. The sensory says you must stop trying to close him out and go against his guidance...and, of course, he still wishes to speak with you.'_

_From the midst of the gaping mouth below him, Sheppard suddenly saw hundreds of red eyes staring up at him, experiencing that same overwhelming sense of oppression that always accompanied them. At that moment, a tendril shot out toward him, grasping his wrist and tugging him hard, ripping him from Ronon's grip and dragging him into the crater. The voices of his friends calling for him as he sank into oblivion were the very last thing he heard..._

'You all right, sweetie?' Maerla asked as he jolted awake again to the sight of the same cold street he'd fallen asleep on.

He nodded, trying not to yawn too obviously.

She just laughed, and tweaked his cheek. 'We'll try not to take that too personally, lovey,' she chuckled, nudging elbows with her skinny friend again as they shared the joke.

He smiled, still glad to have them there with him although he hoped he didn't need their bodyguard services for much longer. If he didn't get some decent sleep soon, there'd be nothing left of him to go see the sensory, no matter how insistent he was about the need for them to meet.


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: Happy New Year to all those of you still reading this story. I hope 2011 proves to be a good year for you all. :)**

**Chapter 16**

What felt like several hours later, and with his brain just about ready to shut off again from sheer exhaustion, Sheppard saw Magistra Tranaedan re-emerge into the crisp night, fastening her coat against the cold. Of course, because of his constant drifting, he had no real way to judge the passage of time, all he knew was he was cold, tired and utterly miserable.

His loyal companion, who had been as good as her word in shooing off a number of unwanted callers while he battled to stay awake, backed away now that his owner had returned to reclaim him.

'You should be more careful with your property. There's folks around here like to take things that don't belong to them,' she called to the magistra as she headed back inside.

'You don't say,' Sheppard breathed, catching sight of the hard look his "owner" gave him. Then, she arched an eyebrow, wiping her thumb across his face and showing him the lipstick smear on it.

'I see you were busy while I was away,'

He shrugged. 'I didn't really have any say in the matter. It's like Maerla said, you should take better care of your property if it bothers you.'

She unlocked the vehicle and released him, allowing him room to activate the hatch and jump aboard. When she took his offered hand, she gasped, 'Why, Jadrael. You're almost frozen solid!'

'And whose fault is that...Magistra?' he asked, the final word a mere afterthought rather than real respect.

She slipped past him, giving him a wicked smile. 'Well, you didn't expect me to lock you inside the ship, did you? What if you'd managed to free up your cuffs?'

'You husband didn't worry about that earlier,' he pointed out, rotating his shoulders to relieve his aching muscles. 'And do you have any idea of the kind of unsavoury people hanging around these places? Oh, wait...of course you do...you're one of them.'

That earned him a slap, good and sharp and out of the blue. 'I have allowed you some free speech tonight, Jadrael. But now it's time to remember your place.'

'That would be your prisoner, then,' he grunted, closing the hatch and throwing himself into the pilot seat, blowing on his fingers to warm them up. They were so cold he could barely feel them any more. At least his face was warm where she'd slapped it.

She equally petulantly threw herself into the passenger seat, pushing the cuff control down into her cleavage where he'd seen her keep it before. Now in the enclosed cabin, he could smell the alcohol lingering on her, even though she tried to cover it with a good spray of perfume. Seemed she'd had a drink to loosen up for her rendezvous.

He choked out a cough and ran through the pre-flight checks. 'So...this is where you like to hang out, huh?' he asked, steadily raising the craft up and following the route he'd taken into the centre of the city. 'I take it your other half doesn't know about this?'

'No, he doesn't. And if you're smart, you'll make sure it stays that way,' she warned him. 'He won't look kindly on your part in this, even if you tell him you had no idea where we were headed.'

Ignoring the threat, he continued to taunt her, feeling mean after his session cuffed to the ship. 'You know, if you're horny, you could try sleeping with your husband. Seems to me like he's crazy about you...emphasis on the "crazy", of course.'

She appeared to shudder at the very thought, her lip curling. 'Don't be disgusting. Now shut up and fly.'

He arched an eyebrow. '_You're_ calling _me_ disgusting?'

'Well, if you would carry out the roll I purchased you for, I wouldn't have to resort to such measures,' she snapped at him, straightening out her mussed hair.

'Oh really,' he drawled. 'Seemed to me like the guy in charge knew you pretty well already...you can't pin this on me.'

She had pulled a powder compact from her purse and stopped reapplying her makeup now to give him a ferocious glare. 'If you don't want me to start literally pinning things on you, boy, I suggest you take us home.'

Figuring he wasn't getting anywhere with his little lesson in morality, Sheppard hit the gas and took them quickly back to the gates. The streets, lined with soaring buildings, were dark now other than the intermittent phosphorescent lamps, and the occasional light in a window. Even in that poor illumination, he saw something that caught his attention. Up above their altitude, hovering near one of the buildings and apparently scanning it, was a basketball sized metallic orb, its shiny casing glinting near one of the lamps.

'What's that?' he asked, pointing up at it.

With a sigh, and a flamboyant sweep of her hand across her forehead, Magistra Tranaedan dropped her compact back in her purse and leaned forward to peer up out of the windshield. 'It's a government drone. They scan for Wraith.'

'Yeah? Thought you didn't have any trouble with them?'

'We don't, but it pays to be careful. You never know, one might try to steal its way into the city. That thing detects Wraith DNA. They wouldn't stay hidden for long.'

Sheppard suddenly felt even colder, a shiver pricking down his spine. Teyla had Wraith DNA. That thing would be able to find her.

'And what happens if they detect Wraith DNA?' he asked, trying to act casual as he steered one-handed and leaned his elbow on the back of the seat to look over her way.

'Government troops move in and they annihilate it, of course,' she said, frowning at him as if it was the most ridiculous question she'd ever heard.

'Of course,' he repeated, trembling a little at the thought of what that might mean for his teammate. Suddenly, he felt more useless and ineffectual than ever, his own problems melting away into insignificance.

At the gates, he handed over the documentation to the waiting facilitator, who passed it back and waved them through. He couldn't see any point in this facade of security when Magistra Tranaedan had obviously tricked her way in there with little difficulty. But then, there were plenty of regimes back on Earth that operated in just the same way, so it wasn't so unexpected. Money talked, it was as simple as that, and it would most likely always be that way.

He steered the ship through the various barriers as they each opened up, then took them out into the great expanse of lands that lay between this and the various other cities they'd passed en route.

Magistra Tranaedan slipped off her coat once again and made herself comfortable, turning her seat toward his and crossing her legs so that the toe of her shoe just brushed his shin. He was still freezing cold, and seriously toying with turning up the heating, but since his mistress didn't have much more clothing to shed, he decided to keep it just as it was. He could thaw out slowly; it wouldn't do him any harm.

He could feel the magistra's gaze drilling into him, but he chose not to acknowledge it. Right now, he couldn't even look at her, knowing what she'd just been up to behind her husband's back. Worse still, she'd made him an accomplice in her deceit, and he knew which one of them would get in the most trouble if her husband ever did find out the truth. That thought once again left him assaulted by the sight of Manstaen skewered in the gallery, stinking and decaying right in front of him. He started shaking all over again, cold and repulsed now by the thought of the barbarities that awaited him if he failed to please the magister.

'You're trembling,' his passenger said quietly, reaching over to lay her hand on the back of his. 'You're still as cold as ice.'

'I'll be fine once we get back and I start cleaning the ship. No chance of feeling cold then,' he quipped.

'You look tired.' She stroked her fingers down his face, sending a thrill through him.

Cursing himself for allowing her to get under his skin even that small amount, he said quietly, 'Don't do that.'

'You can barely keep your eyes open.'

And as soon as she said that, he felt as if his lids were weighted with lead, and his head was too heavy to hold up. He fought the urge to let his eyes slide shut, but he doubted he could keep it up for the whole flight.

'Set the craft down.'

'What?'

'I said set the craft down. You're obviously exhausted and you're shaking too much to fly the ship safely anyway. I want you to stop until you're rested and feel warmer. Set it down over there...off the main route.'

He did as she told him, even though his gut instinct was yelling that she was just looking for an opportunity to come onto him again. Still, this was probably his chance to act. All he had to do was pretend to be all weak and vulnerable for a while, and then grab that damn controller. He could do that.

Cutting the engines, he leaned back and folded his arms. 'Happy now?'

'Happier, yes. No point in crashing because you're falling asleep at the controls.'

'Well, if you're worried about me crashing, you probably shouldn't have asked me to fly this thing when I haven't slept much in two days,' he pointed out, stretching out his long legs and setting them on the dash where there were no controls to kick. He laid his head back and closed his eyes, deciding to feign sleep rather than continue to talk. Unfortunately, his brain had other ideas...

He jolted awake at the sensation of something resting on his legs. 'It's all right, Jadrael. I'm only covering you up.' Magistra Tranaedan had laid her coat over him, and was now crouched beside his seat. 'You get some rest.'

If he'd had any choice in the matter, he'd have told her he didn't need to sleep, but he did and his mind was already shutting down again. _Come on, John. You gotta act now, _he thought, as he drifted off again. But he couldn't fight it. Sleep was dragging him down.

The pressure of someone sitting in his lap was pleasantly unexpected...pleasant that was until his consciousness forced its way in and reminded him who it would be.

His eyes snapped open just as Magistra Tranaedan's mouth closed down on his. It was gentle, and the weight of her body on top of his did bring welcome warmth, but the fact she was taking advantage of him because she knew he was exhausted gave it a decidedly sordid taint. Even so, he closed his eyes and savoured it for a while, letting her have her fun because he was just too damn tired to put up a struggle. He drifted off to the sensation of her soft caresses stroking his face, her fingers raking through his hair, her warm lips brushing against his...

And he woke again as she tried to open his jacket.

'Okay,' he said, sitting up and pushing her hands away. 'This really isn't helping.'

She quirked an eyebrow. 'Isn't it? Your face has more colour already. Why don't you just relax and enjoy it?'

The sensation of her stroking his hair back again almost sent him back off to sleep, but he fought it, battling to keep his eyes open. 'Well, since your husband is likely to take my head clean off my shoulders if this goes any further, that's not likely to happen. I think we should call it a night.'

He tried to sit up, but she gently yet forcefully pushed him back against the seat. 'He doesn't have to know,' she purred, trying once again to unbuckle one of the four straps holding his jacket shut. He stopped her again, his eyes moving to her cleavage as he wondered if this might be the ideal chance to pounce.

The control was gone.

'I thought you said you weren't interested,' the Magistra smirked, sliding her finger under his chin to lift his face until his eyes met hers.

'I...I'm not,' he stammered. 'I was...'

'Looking for this,' she finished for him, flashing the control she'd just pulled from a concealed pocket in her skirts. 'You really are very predictable, Jadrael.'

He punched her, sending her sprawling and the control skittering across the floor. 'Yeah? Well I guess you didn't see _that _comin'.'

Jumping over her prostrate form, he grabbed up the controller and pocketed it. Then, bolting for the hatch, he threw it open. By the time he'd done that and was heading back to throw out the garbage, she was up on her feet and brandishing her cattle prod. A trickle of blood ran from her nose, and she dabbed at it with the back of her hand.

'That really wasn't very clever.'

'No? Well, I never said I was smart,' he shrugged. 'But I'm not going back to your city. I have friends on this planet – friends relying on me to get them out of here. So I'm gonna take this ship to the Stargate and bring back the reinforcements I need to get them the hell out of here.'

He edged forward, but Magistra Tranaedan jabbed out at him, giving him a shock to the stomach that sent him backing off, hands raised. 'Okay, I get it. You're mad at me, but I need this ship, so either you get off now and hitch yourself a lift home, or you can come through the Stargate with me, and explain to my superiors just what the hell is going on here.'

She shook her head, still holding him at bay from the controls. 'You cannot get to the Stargate. The ship is designed to shut down if you get within five carsuls of it.'

From his estimation of speed while in the transports, Sheppard had judged a carsul was somewhere close to two miles. 'You're bluffing,' he growled.

'No I'm not,' she insisted, her eyes tearing up now. 'I'm telling the truth.'

He watched her reactions, gauging that she really was being honest with him. 'Fine. So I'll walk the rest of the way.'

'Even if you did, you couldn't get through the Stargate.'

Now that had to be crap. His luck couldn't be that bad. 'Why?' he sighed, bracing himself for another tall tale.

'Because no one leaves this planet without government permission. You need a code, a code that is matched with your DNA and is time-limited. I'm not even allowed a code – my husband made sure of that. Believe me, I would have been off this planet long ago if I could be granted one. I'm just as trapped as you are.'

So, what? Was she expecting sympathy? He doubted her life was anywhere near as bad as that of her slaves. 'Well, I know a thing or two about 'gate systems. A friend of mine messes around with them all the time. Maybe I could override it,' he suggested, though he doubted what small amount of knowledge he'd picked up would actually cut it.

'If anyone attempts to tamper with the systems, an alarm alerts the authorities. You'll be arrested and punished.'

'Damned if I do...damned if I don't,' he muttered, his tired brain trying to assemble some kind of feasible plan. 'Maybe we could just hide out near the gate until someone else dials through. Then, we could follow them out and I could take us home from wherever they go.'

'Perhaps...'

He saw genuine fear in her eyes. She was afraid to leave and afraid to stay, torn between the evils she knew and the possible problems that were still unknown to her. 'But we can't get close enough to the Stargate to follow anyone. The power in the craft will short out before we reach it.'

'Well, maybe I can take a look under the hood and figure out how to stop that,' he suggested. 'You have a flashlight?'

She frowned.

'A light...a lamp of some kind?' he pressed.

She jabbed up toward a compartment to his right. 'Up there.'

He backed up, keeping his eyes on her until the last minute, then flipped it open, finding the light she'd promised lying inside. It wasn't as powerful as he would have liked, more of a lantern than anything more concentrated, but he figured it might do the trick. He took it and jumped out of the hatch, heading around to the hood and unclipping the cover, revealing the workings beneath just as it began to rain, big spots hitting the back of his jacket as he studied the ship's workings.

It wasn't easy to see out there, and the technology was completely alien in its format, so he made himself busy trying to locate anything that looked like it might be the power source first. If he could find that, he might find whatever Tranaedan had had fitted to it to cut out when approaching the gate.

'Do you see anything obvious?' the Magistra asked, arriving beside him.

He shook his head, leaning in to tinker with anything within his reach. 'No, but I'm not ready to give up just yet.'

A slight tug on his jacket later, and he was suddenly stuck to the uncomfortably warm engine compartment, unable to pull his arms free. _Great, John. Way to get yourself in trouble...again!_

She leaned in behind him, pressing him in further to the hot metal. He struggled to keep his face clear. 'Okay, so I guess you're not completely on board with my plan,' he quipped, feeling sweat breaking out and dripping, hissing and evaporating on the engine components.

'Did you really think I would submit to going to your world where I will be punished for what I've done to you?'

'Who said anything about being punished?' he strained out, feeling her weight increase on him.

'You think your leader won't wish to reprimand me for what I've done. She's very protective of her people.'

'I'll make sure she doesn't...' He stopped then, something about what she'd said striking him as odd. 'Wait a minute. How do you know that?'

'Know what?'

'For one...that my leader's a woman?'

'You told me earlier.'

'Uh, no...I didn't.' He knew because he'd been careful not to tell her anything real.

'Yes, you did,' she insisted, leaning harder on him. 'I distinctly remember it.'

'Okay, okay, I told you,' he agreed, his face now only inches from the broiling engine parts. He knew when he was beat. But that didn't make what had happened any the less puzzling. 'I must have forgotten.'

The pressure on his back lessened some. 'Are you warm enough now, Jadrael?' she asked, more than a hint of amusement in her tone.

'Yeah, plenty warm enough, thanks.'

His cuffs suddenly came away from the engine, still warm against his already damaged skin. He turned slowly, thinking about punching her again until he realised she was now holding him at gunpoint. More specifically, at the point of the gun taken from the man she'd murdered last night.

He licked his dry lips, though he had little saliva to wet them with. 'Okay, there's no need for this to get nasty,' he told her, raising his hands where she could easily see them.

'I imagine you're the kind of man who can fight his way out of any situation if given even the hint of an opportunity,' she growled, levelling the weapon to his face. 'I don't intend to give you any chances.'

'I'm offering you a chance to get away from your husband here, isn't that what you want?' he asked, taking a couple of cautious steps toward her.

'Not this way. Now back up to the craft,' she ordered, jabbing the gun in his face again.

'Whoa! Okay, just take it easy!' He backed up until he was pressed against the craft again, but at least he wasn't singeing his eyebrows this time.

The rain was getting worse, quickly soaking through his flimsy suit. Magistra Tranaedan activated his cuffs again so he couldn't fight back as she approached.

'What you don't understand is that I already have a plan to get away from my husband without having to leave this planet, and if you would just play your part, I could get it underway.'

'Sorry, but I fail to see how you and I getting...busy...will get you away from your husband.'

She closed in on him, jabbing her gun to his temple. 'You don't need to understand – you just need to do as you're told.'

'Well, like I said, if you want me to be a pilot –'

He was cut off when she clamped her mouth on his. Unlike the other evening when Magistra Callaedin had assaulted him this felt very different. If he weren't immobilised, it would actually be quite enjoyable. Her lips were soft and yielding, and he found himself drawn into the exchange again, his mind clouding with the sheer pleasure of it; she certainly had a knack for making him more compliant.

They broke apart, and he talked again to fill the awkward silence. 'You know, if you were to tell me exactly what this plan of yours is –'

She silenced him with another kiss, and again he felt his resistance melting. His brain was yelling that this was the dumbest thing he'd ever done, but it felt good...real good...even with a gun barrel still resting against his head. What the hell was the matter with him? How could he be enjoying this?

She pulled back and he tried to talk her out of it one more time. 'It's getting pretty wet out here now. We should probably get you ba –'

Once again, she planted one of her overwhelming kisses on him, making his head spin and his resistance crumble. When her free hand began to loosen up his jacket, then wander down toward his belt, he really didn't give a damn, he was having too good a time to care.

Beneath them, the ground shook – first a slight tremor, then a more forcible shudder.

Magistra Tranaedan pulled back, her eyes wide.

'Well, normally the earth moves a little further into the proceedings,' he joked, but she pressed a finger to his lips, ordering him into silence.

He could hear a rumble coming from somewhere under the ground. It was some way off, but getting closer.

'I take it that's bad,' he whispered.

Barely even daring to move her head, Magistra Tranaedan gave a nod.

'Maybe this would be a good time to turn off the magnets?' he hissed, giving a tug to prove how stuck he was.

Again, very slowly, the Magistra reached into her pocket and pulled out the control, switching off his cuffs.

'We need to get airborne,' she whispered, her voice tiny and scared.

He nodded, and signalled for her to start moving toward the open hatch.

They had both edged only a few steps when the ground several metres away exploded in a fountain of dirt and debris. In the darkness and chaos, Sheppard thought he actually saw a huge fanged mouth gnash in their direction.

Magistra Tranaedan screamed, ending any hopes he had of keeping them hidden from whatever had just burst onto the scene.

'Go, go, go!' he yelled pushing her along in front of him.

Whatever the hell was tracking them shot back under ground and began burrowing again, the reverberations from its actions almost shaking them off their feet. Then it resurfaced just as he was pushing Magistra Tranaedan through the hatch. She fell inside as the craft tipped on the rupturing ground, and Sheppard swung loose, desperately hanging on to the frame as the craft leaned and spun around 180 degrees. He heard a snap of teeth and felt hot breath scarily close behind him, warming up his rear, and that was all the incentive he needed to haul himself into the hatch and slide across the ship as he collided hard with the wall on the other side next to where Magistra Tranaedan had landed.

She sobbed and shook, but he couldn't afford the luxury of panic. Fighting against the steep list of the cabin, he pulled himself into the cockpit and then into the pilot chair, barely able to stabilise himself enough to activate the controls. Another jolt practically shook him out of his seat, but he grimly hung on, knowing he had to get them up out of harm's way if they were going to survive this encounter.

A roar echoed through the cabin. The damn thing was right on top of them.

'How big is that thing?' he yelled back to his terrified mistress. 'Is it big enough to swallow this ship?'

'Not in one go!' she squealed, screaming as the ship jolted again, resonating to the sound of scraping metal.

Whatever was out there was biting the hull. Time to go.

Sheppard fired up the engines. Apparently, the beast attacking them preferred its food cold because it screeched and released them, and Sheppard set the ship into motion, far quicker than he knew any flight manual Magister Tranaedan owned would have recommended. He took them up and circled back, taking another knock as whatever was down there swiped a monstrous paw through the air at them. It only clipped them, but it was enough to send them off course for a while.

Once Sheppard had wrestled the ship into a steady track again, he took them far higher than necessary. The ship seemed to be holding up, but he had no idea what damage had been done in the attack, so it made sense to keep them up out of range should the critter decide to follow them.

Magistra Tranaedan eventually hauled herself, dishevelled and tear-stained, back into the passenger seat.

He glanced over at her, noting just how shaken she looked. 'So...you didn't think the huge man-eating rabbits were worth mentioning when you were putting me off escaping, huh?' he yelled.

'That's the reason why Magister Tranaedan rigs the ships to cut out miles from the Stargate. If the impact after losing power doesn't kill whoever is trying to escape, the monsters that inhabit the lands between most likely will.'

'Yeah, well, as your pilot, it might have been better for me to know that before we set off. I would never have set down had I known there were things like that lurking out there. What the hell were you thinking?'

A little of the shock left her as she listened to his ranting, and she straightened up to defend herself. 'There was no reason to believe the creature would be so close to where we landed –'

'And no reason to doubt it wasn't!' he snapped back. 'You could have gotten us both killed. And for what? A quick fumble behind your husband's back?'

'You think I would be that foolish for something so –'

'I think you seriously need to rethink your priorities, lady, that's what I think!' he shouted, his body now stinging in protest at the stress he'd put it under in his current condition. And he'd thought it was hurting enough before their encounter with the indigenous wildlife.

'Well,_ I_ think_ you_ need to remember who you're speaking to,' the magistra warned him, and then she flung herself back in her seat and folded her arms, ending their animated conversation.

With the heat of their ardour now completely dampened, Sheppard couldn't help but feel embarrassed about how willingly he had responded to her attentions. It struck him as crazy now, knowing what her husband would do to him if he ever found out, but he'd found her utterly intoxicating at the time. It wasn't like him to lose his head that way. He promised himself he would be more sensible the next time she tried to work her charms on him...unless he fancied becoming her husband's latest exhibit.

Doubting a good clean was going to cut it with her craft this time, Sheppard steered their vessel back to Traginta Duo, yawning now that the excitement was over and with the prospect of a gruelling night of scrubbing and repairs ahead of him.

After settling the craft in the hangar, he helped the Magistra disembark. She held onto his hand, seemingly reluctant to leave. There was a yearning in her expression, and a deep sadness that almost made him pity her...almost.

Ripping his fingers free of hers, he headed off to the storage area to see what supplies he could find to help him carry out the repairs necessary to get the ship past a Magister Tranaedan inspection.

She loitered a while longer, then silently went on her way. At the door to the store, Sheppard turned and watched her leave, feeling an odd sense of disappointment. She'd been right; out there in the middle of nowhere, no one need ever have known if he'd fulfilled her apparent needs, and he'd been ready and willing at the time. An opportunity missed...but it was probably for the best.

He stopped himself. What the hell was he thinking? Somehow, that woman had succeeded in getting to him in a way he really didn't like to admit, even to himself. How sick was that? He needed to get out of here before things got more complicated than they already were.

His eyes drifted to the ship now. There were several gouges in the bodywork where the monstrous beast that had attacked them had caught them in its teeth, then been forced to let them go as he'd fired up the thrusters. They were going to take some serious elbow grease to fix up, and normally he would have thought himself too tired and beat up to manage it. But the thought of what Magister Tranaedan might do to him if he didn't straighten them out gave him a new lease of life.

After a quick rummage, he found a toolbox containing section pullers and a set of varying sized hammers that looked pretty much like a panel beating kit.

Hoping the work would take his mind off his stupidity, he set about the task, taking out his frustrations on the battered metal to alleviate his almost overwhelming desire to say to hell with it and follow the magistra to her room.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

_The ship rocked again, throwing Sheppard out of his seat as it rolled onto its roof. He and Magistra Tranaedan bowled around, crashing against the various surfaces and fixtures until it settled into its new position, rocking precariously. Stunned, Sheppard could barely see straight as he crawled forward again, not sure he could get the thing flying even if he made it to the controls. The roof, no, the floor above his head buckled, bending and grinding in protest under the weight of their attacker._

_He dropped to the floor, or rather the roof and crawled on his stomach through the narrowed space to reach the controls, not sparing a thought for the fact the metal could give way and crush him. He had to get them out of there if he could. No one else was going to save them._

_He punched the ignition, but just got a face full of sparks in return. 'No! Come on!' he cried, blinking the flares from his retinas._

_He tried again, the engines firing into life. He pressed his full weight against the crumpled steering controls and forced them forwards, screaming with the sheer effort of budging them. They suddenly gave under his body weight and the ship lurched forward, righting itself as they lifted from the ground, throwing them around again._

_But Sheppard didn't even have time to climb into the pilot seat before they were knocked sideways and crashed out of the sky. He heard Magistra Tranaedan screaming, but when he tried to slide back through to reach her, the ship tilted, lifting from the ground and hurling him back against the windshield._

_The screech of scraping, twisting metal hurt his ears, along with the Magistra's screams, and then he was exposed to the cold, wet air of the outside. In the blackness, he saw a flash of teeth as whatever was attacking them tossed the half a ship it had torn away into its great, slavering maw. A final scream from his hapless owner and she was swallowed, the beast then dropping what remained of the apparently unpalatable meal to the ground._

_Briefly knocked unconscious, when he blinked himself awake he was engulfed in pitch-blackness, punctuated only by the sparks of the ship's dying systems. Yet in those brief moments of illumination, something stirred, darting about, pulling itself closer through the wreckage. Too stunned and hurt to move, he could only lie there and watch it working its way closer, trying to stay conscious. But he was losing time, and each time he did, the shadowy figure ended up a little closer._

_Finally, he opened his eyes to find Teyla staring down at him, her yellow Wraith eyes boring into him, her face only inches from his. _

'_Teyla?'_

_She didn't react as he expected, just tilted her head and said, 'The sensory wishes to speak with you.'_

oooOOOooo

Sheppard jumped awake in the cockpit of the ship where he had once again fallen asleep. After hours of hammering, retouching and scrubbing, the ship was in far better shape than it had been on their return. With some more work, he could probably return it to its former glory, but fatigue had caught up with him when he'd stopped for a breather, and now he had no idea what time it was.

'You have to go. The magister is coming!' a little voice to his left chirped.

'Jesus!' he gasped, clutching his chest, as he looked over at Ishraela. 'Would you stop creeping up on me like that?'

'Come! Quickly!' she insisted, pulling on his arm.

'All right, all right. I get it,' he grumbled, levering himself up to his feet. Only now did he realise how battered he was after last night's adventure, his shoulder and hip aching where he'd slammed into the vehicle's side.

He slipped past the little red child and jumped down to the floor, lifting her out behind him. 'Now, you must go,' she ordered, pushing him away toward the door. 'There's not much time.'

He sped up, heading for the door, but when he opened it, Magister Tranaedan was on the other side.

The man looked shocked, perhaps even a little guilty if Sheppard wasn't mistaken. 'Jadrael. You're up early...or late.'

'I...I've been fixing up Magistra Tranaedan's ship. It needed some work,' he said, figuring lying would be pointless. He peered back over his shoulder; his little red friend had disappeared. At least she'd managed to get out in time, but where had she gone?

Tranaedan pushed past him, heading toward the craft. 'You took her out last night?'

'Yes, she wanted to visit a sick friend.'

Tranaedan stopped, looking back at him. 'A sick friend? She never mentioned anything to me.'

'Oh.' He really didn't have any more to say to that that wasn't likely to get him into trouble.'

Tranaedan gave him a long stare, then carried on walking toward the craft, sucking in a breath when he saw it. 'There are several areas of damage. What happened to it?'

'We ran into some trouble. Magistra Tranaedan thought it was bandits trying to steal the craft. They were pretty persistent, but I managed to lose them.'

Magister Tranaedan ran his hand over the panels within his reach. 'Yes, they were. It seems I owe you thanks again. This is two evenings running you have saved my wife from unpleasant experiences. I think it might be safer if she doesn't go out at night.'

'That might be wise, Magister,' Sheppard agreed, less enamoured with the woman now time had allowed him the opportunity to come to his senses. Since the only reason the woman had for being out at night was to give him grief, he had no objection to that idea.

The Magister continued to examine the damage, circling the craft. Sheppard got the distinct feeling his story wasn't ringing true, but it was the excuse Magistra Tranaedan had told him to give as it covered the fact they'd landed out in the lands between.

'You've done some good work here, Jadrael, but it still needs more.' Tranaedan came full circle around the craft, then leaned on the front, giving him another long, hard stare. 'Did anything else happen, Jadrael?'

Sheppard could see from the hardening in his eyes that Tranaedan didn't believe him. He would have to play this one carefully. 'What do you mean?'

'These scores, very regularly spaced...they look like claw marks.'

Sheppard feigned puzzlement, moving in to take a better look himself. 'Claw marks? You think?'

Tranaedan twitched an eyebrow, the rest of his expression fixed. 'Did you land the craft outside of the city?'

Without missing a beat, Sheppard said, 'Yeah, for a short while. I wanted to check the damage the bandits had done before getting too far from Sedicim. I thought it would be better than breaking down in the middle of nowhere.'

Nodding slowly, Tranaedan kept his eyes fixed on him, as if searching for signs of deception. 'That makes sense, but you know the dangers of setting down in the lands between.'

'Like I said, we only did it for a short time. Then, when we took off, we got struck again, so I kept going. I hadn't realised they were still following us. I thought I'd lost 'em.'

'You weren't struck by bandits. I almost lost a ship to a purraet once. This is purraet damage.'

'Purraet damage?' Sheppard looked closer at the dents again. 'I suppose that could be what hit us on take off...Looks like we were luckier than I realised.'

The bigger man suddenly grabbed Sheppard's vest and swung him round, slamming him against the craft. 'What was your real reason for flying last night?'

'I told you, Magister. Your wife was visiting a sick friend in Sedicim,' Sheppard repeated, resolutely sticking with his story.

'The name?'

'What?'

'The name of this friend?'

That was something they hadn't plotted, but quick thinking saved him from making any foolish mistakes. 'Magistra Tranaedan didn't mention who it was, and I didn't think it was my place to ask.'

'Quite so,' the Magister growled, his eyes still burning into him as he sought out uncertainty in Sheppard's conviction. 'But you reek of my wife, so I think you lie.'

'Everything inside the ship smells of your wife, Magister. She certainly likes her perfume.'

Tranaedan held him forced against the ship, barely contained anger pulsing through him. Sheppard knew the man doubted the truth of what he was saying, but so far he hadn't slipped up. All he had to do was keep his cool and the man need never know how close he came to living up to his expectations...or those of his wife.

After a few more charged seconds, Tranaedan let him go. 'I see,' he said, tugging straight his jacket. 'Well, I expect to see this ship in as near perfect condition as possible by sunset.'

'Yes, Magister,' Sheppard replied, dipping his head respectfully. Much as it galled him to do it, he wasn't foolish enough not to when the man was already so on edge.

'In fact, I was down here to run a few essential maintenance protocols this morning, but since you're so dedicated to your work, I may pass these important tasks to you. I think you would benefit from the additional responsibility.'

There was something about the way he said that, coming hard on the heels of his insinuations of impropriety, that left Sheppard with a decidedly uneasy feeling. But since he had no choice in the matter, he followed the Magister to the second largest craft in the hangar, one he had only shown him from the outside on his previous tour.

Tranaedan flipped open a panel on the side of the red craft, revealing several ports and a tank of some kind. It contained a foul sludgy substance, and an uncomfortably familiar odour hit him a few seconds later. His stomach churned. He seriously hoped that was a new form of bio fuel.

His master hauled off another panel in the floor, behind which lay various hoses of different thicknesses and colours.

'Now, as you can see, each hose is colour coded to one of those ports, they lock in easily –' Tranaedan pulled a dark blue one and extended it to its matching port on the side of the ship to demonstrate. 'I'm not a man prone to making mistakes, but at this early hour, even I can slip up. You do the rest; they all need to be connected before we can start the process.'

Sheppard did as asked, snapping all the connectors together. Again, the smell as he snapped the thicker hose onto the tank was sickening, so he held his breath until he could back away and breathe fresher air again.

'Very good,' his master nodded. 'Now all you do is turn on the power, and the machine takes care of everything.'

Sheppard stooped and hit a large yellow button, feeling the thrum of power beneath him as the systems kicked in. The tank began to empty, but whether the other hoses where filling or draining things on the ship wasn't clear.

As if reading his thoughts, Tranaedan said, 'I'm sure you're wondering what all this is for. Let me show you.'

He slipped a card from his pocket and slid it down a lock on the hatch in the cockpit. The door slid up, retracting into the roof.

For a moment, Sheppard just stared, not quite sure whether he was seeing what he thought it was. A form was slumped in the pilot seat, human in shape he realised, though its face was hidden behind a visored helmet. It wore some kind of flight suit, though it looked dusty and even a little brittle in places, fraying around the holes punctured through it by numerous hoses and cables. A mechanical pilot?

'This process has to be carried out every three days when supplies are nearly depleted,' Tranaedan said, standing worryingly close now. 'If left any longer, the fragile balance this pilot exists in will break down.'

'I understand,' he nodded.

'I'm not sure you do.'

The pitch of Tranaedan's voice shifted lower, and he slapped a heavy hand down on Sheppard's bruised shoulder, gripping it hard.

With his free hand, he reached into the cockpit and pressed a button on the side of the pilot's helmet. When the visor rolled back, the face beneath was like something from a nightmare. This was no mechanoid. This was a real person...kind of.

The face that helmet revealed was like a skull with a minimal amount of skin drawn over it. The lips were drawn back in a permanent grimace, and the eyes, sunken to the point they almost looked like hollow sockets, were rolled right back so little other than the whites showed. Surely, this poor bastard wasn't alive?

'Why?' was the only question he managed to force out.

'This was always his favourite ship to fly. It seemed a fitting place to put him,' Tranaedan said, matter-of-fact.

'Is he...?'

'Alive? Yes, after a fashion. You see Faraenal here was the first pilot to foolishly ally himself with my wife. I was never certain what the two of them got up to, but I grew tired of the lies.' He focussed his intense glare on Sheppard now. 'I hate to be lied to.'

That was clearly a warning, the second he'd been given in as many days. Tranaedan obviously knew what his wife's intentions were. He couldn't allow the Magistra to seduce him again.

'Those various chemicals keep him sedated, fed, medicated and also wake him when I see fit,' Tranaedan explained. 'He can still fly...but that's all he knows...that and pain.'

He let go of Sheppard long enough to lean inside the ship and turn on a switch. Seconds later, the wasted man in the seat jerked and spasmed, then screamed in utter agony, his hands automatically lifting to the controls even as pain raged through him.

The severity of the poor man's reaction startled Sheppard, hardened as he thought he was, but Tranaedan grabbed his shoulder again and held him fast. 'I keep his muscles just strong enough for flight with electrical impulses, his food and fluid intake are the bare minimum to stop organ failure. I see no point in wasting more on someone so disloyal.' His hand slipped up to the back of Sheppard's neck, gripping it and forcing him to move forward until he was right up beside the wretched creature who writhed and screamed in agony.

'Faraenal is a loyal pilot now, Jadrael. I had him adjusted so he could be nothing else. He and the ship are as one. If the ship and systems are maintained, Faraenal continues to live, but if anything fails, he will die.'

As far as Sheppard was concerned, that was no bad thing, but he knew any deliberate failure to maintain him on his part would be the last stupid thing he ever did.

The pilot's head twisted his way, the eyes rolling forward now and seeming to focus on him for just a moment. He screamed again, his breath rank and his tongue dry and cracked within his parched mouth.

'This is all he knows now. He should have realised where his role in this household began and ended. When slaves forget that, they have to be taught a lesson.'

A garbled groan from the all but disintegrating pilot ended that sentence in a suitably foreboding way. Message received and understood.

'Yes, Magister,' Sheppard nodded, completely placid now in the sight of such horror.

Tranaedan altered the ship's internal controls, and the pilot slumped once again into unconsciousness. The knot in Sheppard's stomach eased a little, but the sight remained burned into his memory even after his owner closed the hatch on the scene.

'I'll leave you to your work then,' Tranaedan smirked, slapping him on the back and striding confidently from the hangar, no doubt sure Sheppard would be thinking about what he'd shown him for some time to come.

For a few minutes, Sheppard couldn't move. He wanted to punch something, scream, shout and demand to be returned to his real life, but he couldn't, because any outward sign of self-pity would be stamped on in a way he would certainly regret.

So instead, he stared at the red hatch in front of him, remembering what he'd seen behind it. He had to keep his head now, and he had to stay away from Magistra Tranaedan. The woman had already caused two previous pilots more suffering than he wanted to imagine. He really didn't want to find himself joining the ranks of the "previous" Tranaedan pilots.

oooOOOooo

The facilitators of Traginta Duo took the official documents from Elizabeth, casting an eye over them, glancing back up at her before checking them again, then passing them back to her and setting the gates in motion.

Having been through the process before she and Lorne's team knew what to expect, but that didn't make it any more pleasant. It was a relief to get away from the oppressive decontaminating fumes and through the buffeting fans and out into the city beyond.

Lorne took the jumper slowly down the streets, winding through the erratic craft zipping around him. 'This place makes New York traffic seem like a drive in the country!' he quipped. 'I wonder if they have any rules at all.'

'I get the feeling this society is pretty firmly entrenched in the belief that rules are made to be broken,' Elizabeth responded, her eyes constantly scouring the streets for any sign of their missing personnel.

They had gained permission to search with five teams, so each of them faced a search through twenty cities, beginning in Uno, the seat of power on this planet. It was a massive task, like finding the proverbial needle in a haystack, and after an hour of touring the streets, it became clear that if anyone in this city was hiding her missing personnel, they were doing a good job of it.

'I think we're going to have to get out and start speaking to people, Major,' she instructed. 'Find a safe place to set us down and we'll try this on foot.'

He nodded, spotting a back street where no one appeared to be moving. Lorne set the craft down and cloaked it, then they disembarked, Radek calling up a screen on his tablet showing photos of their four missing colleagues.

So they headed out to the city centre, risking life and limb to cross roads and approach anyone they could see on foot. Their questions met with suspicion, most people closing down on them the instant they approached, without even bothering to look at the pictures. Whether these people knew anything about Sheppard and his team or not, they apparently weren't willing to share.

After trawling the streets for some time, it became patently apparent they weren't getting anywhere.

'All right, people. Let's take a minute to rethink,' Elizabeth ordered, finding a small side street where the movement of people was less hectic.

'Either these people are scared, or there is a conspiracy throughout the population that no one speaks to outsiders,' Radek observed, pushing his glasses up on the bridge of his nose. 'They aren't even looking at the pictures we're showing them before saying they know nothing.'

'Yes, I noticed that. And I think you're right; they're either scared or complicit...I'm just not sure which yet,' she agreed.

'So what do we do, Dr Weir?' Lorne asked. 'We can try bringing pressure to bear on these people, but if they really are scared, they probably still won't tell us anything.'

'I don't think we're quite that desperate yet, Major. No point in alienating them when we still need their help.'

She looked toward the opening at the end of the street. A couple of men were watching them, but moved on when she looked their way. 'I really want to do this peacefully if possible. These people are advanced by Pegasus standards. We might be able to learn something useful from them if we can find some common ground.'

'Hard to find common ground when people are not being honest,' Radek mused, gaining nods of agreement from the marines.

Elizabeth knew he was right, but she felt hopeful that they still might be able to negotiate a peaceful, mutually agreeable solution. Surely, people this advanced would be smart enough to see the sense in that?

'Give it time, gentlemen. We may solve this problem yet.'

From the corner of her eye, she saw Lorne's gun twitch higher, his finger slipping to the trigger. She hated guns, even when in the hands of someone as competent and sensible as the steadfast major, but here, surrounded by strangers, she knew they were a necessary evil.

'We seem to be attracting some interest, Ma'am,' he said quietly, dipping his head in the direction they'd entered by.

At the mouth of the passage, three men now lurked, their coats bulging in a way that suggested they might be concealing some weaponry.

'You looking for some missing men?' one called, taking a few steps toward them.

Elizabeth exchanged a look with the major, one that told him to leave the talking to her.

'Yes...yes, we are. Do you know something about them?'

'Are they off-worlders?' he asked, answering her question with one of his own.

She squinted into the shadows cast by the tall buildings lining the alley, unable to see any of the men clearly. She could feel Lorne's team's heightened state of alert. They sensed trouble here just as surely as she did.

'Yes. We have pictures if you'd like to come and take a look at them,' she called, keeping her tone conversational. They were all on edge; outnumbered on a strange world. Perhaps they were reading too much into this curiosity.

'Are those guns you're carrying?'

She looked over at Lorne, and could see him silently begging her not to ask him to put his weapon down.

'Yes, but they're purely for our protection. We mean you no harm,' she assured him.

The men stopped approaching, hanging back. Pockets twitched, they whispered to one another, and in those moments Elizabeth's vain hopes that this was all an innocent exchange evaporated.

'Put the guns down, and we'll look at your pictures,' the man finally called out.

'We need to get out of here, Ma'am.' Lorne's whisper was urgent, his expression insistent. He clearly had no doubt they were in danger now.

'I'm afraid we can't do that,' Elizabeth called out, watching from the corner of her eye as all four of the marines readied themselves for a skirmish. The soldiers began edging in, shielding both her and Radek, who was now shuffling back to allow them room.

'Elizabeth, we need to go,' he said softly.

She nodded, allowing Lorne to plant himself in front of her. 'Thanks for your interest, gentlemen,' he called out, 'but we're leaving now. Don't try to follow us.'

The whirl of a coat, and a flash of light later, and gunfire tore through the air. Her men were firing, and Lorne pushed her head down and shoved her roughly toward the other end of the alley. She almost stumbled to her knees in the chaos, but Lorne caught her and kept her upright, yelling to his men to provide cover while he got her and Radek out of the line of fire.

Several times the alley lit up with weapons fire from their assailants, and shouts rang out, some from Lorne's team, some from their aggressors. Their trawl of the city streets had thankfully ended with them back near their landing spot, so they didn't have too far to go before they were ensconced within the safety of the cloaked jumper. But they were one short. Private Garelli hadn't made it.

They sat tight, watching as two of the men who had chased them entered the end of the street they were parked in. Apparently, Garelli hadn't been the only one incapacitated.

They stayed cloaked and stayed put, and thankfully the men didn't venture too close, deciding they'd lost their quarry and heading back the way they'd come. With the men on the retreat, Lorne started the engines and followed at a discreet distance, returning to the alleyway to retrieve their fallen comrade. When they turned the final corner that would take them there, they found the alleyway empty, no sign of the trouble that had just broken out, nor of either of the stricken men.

'What the hell...?' Lorne breathed. 'Where'd they go?'

'I don't know, but I think we know now that the population of this planet isn't quite as benign as the first minister would have us believe. We need to head back to his offices.'

'With all due respect, Ma'am. I think you should return to Atlantis and leave the situation to us. It's obvious that these people are trying to capture us, and Atlantis can't afford to lose its leader as well as its military commander.'

'But I need to negotiate with Thalaezin. I can't do that if I go back through the gate.'

'It's not safe here, Dr Weir. You've seen that first hand now. We need to withdraw our troops and come back when we're better prepared. Better still, maybe we can convince Thalaezin to come to Atlantis to negotiate. At least we won't risk any more personnel being abducted.'

With a sigh, Weir was forced to agree Lorne was right. 'All right, Major. Call everyone back to Atlantis and we'll formulate our best approach from there.'

She could see the relief on his face as soon as she agreed. He sent out the call, then set the ship in motion. But the other teams had run into trouble, too, one of them failing to respond, and the others reporting casualties in their struggles to get back to their ships. Elizabeth sighed. What kind of a planet was this? She'd thought when Lorne had first reported his findings that they were dealing with a highly civilised society, but they'd turned out to be little better than petty criminals.

The rest of them followed the course back to the gate plotted by Zelenka, avoiding all the highly magnetised regions to ensure they made it there without their engines failing as Sheppard's had.

They covered the ground between Uno and the 'gate at speed and with no further problems. As they approached the gate, Zelenka called forward from the rear seats. 'Perhaps we should stop off at the DHD and collect the last several gate addresses dialled. If Thalaezin is correct and someone took them off-world, we can start running checks on which of the addresses are viable.'

'Well, it can't hurt,' Elizabeth agreed, though her gut was telling her Thalaezin had lied to cover his peoples' crimes. 'Major Lorne, let's land this thing at the DHD.'

'Yes, Ma'am.'

When Lorne set them down beside the DHD, he ordered Reynolds to head out with Zelenka to collect the data they needed. Within minutes, they were back on board the craft.

'Dr Weir, I think you might like to see this,' Zelenka called to her, and, intrigued, both she and Lorne followed both Zelenka and Reynolds back out to the DHD.

As soon as she got close, Elizabeth could see that something didn't look quite right. 'What is that?' she asked, squatting down to examine the black box with a keypad and numerous wires attached to the controls of the DHD.

'Let me show you,' Zelenka replied, trying to dial an address she didn't recognise.

As he punched in the final destination symbol, a recorded message sounded out. 'You are not authorised to use the Stargate. Please return to central government to request your departure code. You are not authorised to use the Stargate. Please return to central government –'

'You wanna try that again, Doc?' Lorne asked patiently, but the way his brow furrowed told Elizabeth he was more worried than he was letting on.

'Yes...yes, of course,' the little Czech nodded, dialling the co-ordinates once more. 'When I saw the device, I thought it best to dial an uninhabited world in case they are logging down gate addresses for nefarious purposes.' Again,when he hit the final symbol the same message was repeated and the DHD powered down.

Lorne looked at Elizabeth and quipped, 'I guess we just got the answer phone.'

'And if we got the answer phone, I imagine any bandits roaming around out here would get the same. Which means Thalaezin lied to us about the possibility our people were taken off world.'

'Sure looks that way,' Lorne nodded. 'No surprises there.'

There was no way she could see that any rogue element could dial the gate, nor Sheppard and his team. They would have had to head for a city, and the tracks Lorne's team had found had suggested they were picked up rather than attacked. Someone knew more than they were letting on, she was certain of that. 'So not only does the government control movement between cities, but also movement off the planet,' Elizabeth mused, trying to piece things together in her mind.

'But not onto it,' Radek pointed out. 'It seems odd that anyone can come through, but people need permission to leave.'

'Yes,' Elizabeth agreed, realising he made a good point. 'Yes it does. Seems like people can come through freely, but only the government decides who can leave again. I wonder what criteria you have to meet to get that permission.'

'Or what criteria you don't have to meet,' Lorne suggested, adding another angle to their surmising. 'Maybe they're looking for something, a certain quality in people, and only people who don't have it can leave.'

'Hmmm, like the ATA gene?'

'I don't know. No one's even mentioned that,' Lorne shrugged. 'And if that's it, why haven't they let Teyla and Ronon come back to Atlantis?'

'Because they would be able to tell us what had happened to Rodney and Colonel Sheppard,' Radek pointed out.

'All right. Speculation is getting us nowhere. If we want answers, we need to get them straight from the horse's mouth. Take us back to Uno, Major Lorne. This time Thalaezin is going to give us some honest answers if I have to beat them out of him myself. We are not leaving this planet until each and every one of our missing personnel is returned.'

'Yes, Ma'am. And if you don't mind my saying this, I think the time for negotiation has passed. We need to increase the pressure.'

Though she hated to take that route, she knew the major was right. Nodding, she added, 'You may be right. Round up the remaining teams and have them follow us to Uno. I think we might need their back-up on this.'

Lorne glanced over at Radek, whose eyebrows looked as if they were trying to join with his receding hairline. He smirked, heading back to the jumper. 'Yes, Ma'am.'

Advocate for peace, she might be, but Elizabeth Weir did not suffer fools or liars gladly. Thalaezin might think he was something special here on Haraendon, but he was about to find out just how much of a mistake it was to try to pull the wool over her eyes.


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: I'd like to take this opportunity to once again thank those of you following this story for your feedback. It's much appreciated as ever.**

**There do, however, seem to be some misconceptions of what are the issues I am addressing in this story and how they should be tackled amongst certain reviewers, and I'm sure that reviewer knows who I mean. An objective re-read of the story might clarify things, as would allowing the story to play out the way it is intended to, rather than making sweeping assumptions about where I plan to take things and what I do and don't understand about Stargate technologies. Now, I'm sure there aren't really readers out there who repeatedly give undeservedly critical reviews just for fun, because that would be just plain silly, so I think it's better to assume this is a misunderstanding. Bearing that in mind, I would give the advice that, rather than looking a bit foolish by leaving irrelevant or inaccurate comments, certain readers should read the plot as it has been depicted and decide whether my story is one they are actually enjoying on its own merits. If it isn't, perhaps it would be wise to find a story that better fits their own preferences rather than trying to remould this one into something it clearly isn't, and deciding it comes up short of expectations.**

**That said, I do welcome constructive criticism, so anyone feeling that I have done something incorrectly is welcome to tell me. Not surprisingly, I can't use irrelevant criticism to improve a story if it's based on assumptions or misinterpretations alone!**

**Sorry to have to announce all that publicly, but as this is the only forum I have in which to address the issue, I had little other choice.**

**Now, back to the story for those who still wish to follow it the way I'm writing it.**

**Chapter 18 **

It was only when Lanae arrived in the hangar to call him to the evening meal that Sheppard's appetite had returned enough for him to even think of eating. He wasn't one to be put off his food easily, but the image of that tortured pilot still set his stomach heaving as he pulled up a seat beside his young escort and waited for Raelzine to serve up their food.

Tonight it was some kind of stew, with large portions of some form of bird cooked into it. It smelled delicious, and looked pretty good too, until he prodded at one of the portions and the skin slipped across the slick, tender white meat. His mind decided at that point to conjure up the nightmare image of that poor pilot, his head twisting around in point, his tight skin splitting and exposing bone and muscle beneath, far worse than the reality had been, and that had been terrible enough. That was it. There would be no stew for him tonight.

He pushed the plate away and left the table, heading back to finish clearing away the equipment he'd been using earlier.

It had taken him all day to get Magistra Tranaedan's ship back into good shape, that is, the kind of shape Magister Tranaedan would consider acceptable. And even then he felt certain he would want him to do more work. He thanked the stars that he'd fixed up a Chevy in his teens to be his first car. The experience had proved priceless today. The damage to the craft hadn't been extensive, thankfully, but after almost no sleep and a day of panel beating he felt completely drained. He picked up the spray paint dispenser and hauled it toward the storage area, realising he had no idea what he could clean it with. He figured he'd better ask Raelzine or Lanae if they knew before he got into any more trouble.

Stepping back into the hangar, he felt inexorably drawn to that big red craft that had become a prison for one of his predecessors. He headed over to it, running his hand over the panel behind which he knew all the ports and power switches lay that kept the pilot alive. Alive. That was a joke. He wasn't alive in any sense of the word he understood. What had his name been? He couldn't even remember, he'd been so horrified by the sight when he'd realised the contorted heap of clothing in the seat in front of him was an actual person. It would take only the press of a button or a tug on those hoses to end that man's torment...and commence his own. Could he live with himself knowing what was contained in this ship and doing nothing about it?

He slipped his hand to the hatch, remembering the screams, a shiver shaking through him. It would only take a second...

'Jadrael?'

Raelzine's voice jarred him out of his thoughts, and he rounded the craft to reveal where he was to her. 'Over here.'

She headed toward Magistra Tranaedan's craft, looking it over with an appreciative nod. 'This looks much better than last night when you returned. Magister Tranaedan will be pleased with your work.'

'Yeaahh...I'm not so sure about that.' Sheppard could see she was holding a covered plate, and hoped she hadn't followed him with his meal. Much as he appreciated the gesture, he really couldn't face it.

Raelzine looked surprised by his reaction, turning to face him with her free hand on her hip. 'And why wouldn't he? You've done fine work here...probably saved him the cost of a professional repair job.'

Shrugging, Sheppard picked up a few more of the tools he'd been using, dropping them back into the heavy tool kit he'd lugged from the storage area almost a whole day ago. 'I don't think he likes me much.'

'Oh, he's just being territorial. He's always the same when a younger man comes into the household,' she assured him. 'You just stick to doing your job the way you're supposed to and you'll be fine. And the only way you can keep doing that is to eat.'

She uncovered the plate to reveal a warm bread cake filled with what looked like cheese she'd put together for him. Though he still didn't feel in the mood, he figured he could force some bread down, so gave her his thanks and took it from her, sitting down on the step of Magistra Tranaedan's craft to eat it.

The old woman stood by, watching him pick at his meal, eventually tutting impatiently and folding her arms. 'You eat less than a hushtae fly! You carry on like that and there'll be nothing left of you soon.'

Again, thoughts of the emaciated pilot filled his head, and now even the sandwich turned his stomach. 'I...I'm just having an off day. I'm sure I'll get my appetite back tomorrow.'

She knocked at his shoulder with the back of her hand, gesturing for him to move over. Though he really didn't feel like company, he could see from the determined look on her face that she wasn't about to go. He slid over, making room for her to join him.

'What's happened, Jadrael? What's on your mind?'

He couldn't help the laugh that huffed out of him. Where should he start? His lost friends? His freaky nightmares? Almost getting eaten by a giant mammal? The wanton Magistra Tranaedan? The two previous pilots? The psychotic Magister Tranaedan? This was one screwed up world.

'I guess I'm just having trouble...fitting in.'

She gave him an understanding smile, patting the back of his hand as it toyed with the sandwich. 'That's to be expected. It takes everyone a while to settle into a household, and you are old to enter slavery for the first time.'

'Hey, less of the old!' he protested, but his lopsided smile told her he was joking.

'Were you a leader of people before coming here?' she asked.

The question was kind of out of the blue, but her interest seemed innocent enough. 'I didn't think we were allowed to talk about my being an off-worlder,' he pointed out, but the look she gave him told him she was prepared to, just this once. 'Yeah, yeah I was. I came here with my team and now I have no idea where any of them are...or if they're even still alive. One of them was badly injured when our ship crashed ...and another one has Wraith DNA.'

Raelzine gasped, but he held up his hands to placate her. 'She's not a Wraith...not anything like one. The DNA is a result of some experiments the Wraith did on her people a long time ago. She hates the Wraith as much as anyone in this galaxy.'

'She is in terrible danger. The government –'

'Yeah...I know...Magistra Tranaedan told me they scan for Wraith in the cities.'

'Did you tell her about your friend?'

He arched an eyebrow. 'Please! I'm not that dumb.'

She laughed, patting his hand again. 'No, I don't suppose you are.' Then her smile slipped away and she sighed. 'I'm sorry about your friends. Perhaps they were lucky and whoever took you released them.'

'Yeah. Perhaps.' But he didn't think so. Ashnael had been far too interested in all of them for that to have happened.

'I know this is a difficult adjustment when you're used to being your own keeper, but it really is very simple. If you do what is asked of you, your life will be straightforward enough. Perhaps not the excitement you are used to, but...manageable.'

He yawned, stifling it as best he could. 'Actually, things have been a little too exciting around here. I could do with straightforward.'

She looked puzzled now. 'How so?'

Scratching at his hair, he yawned again. 'What do you do when your owners want two different things?'

She gave him a rueful smile now. 'Is this about the Magistra again?'

'Isn't it always?'

'As I've already said. You just have to be strong. Behave appropriately to your position in this household and she cannot bring any real harm on you.'

He chewed his lip, remembering how good her mouth had felt against his. 'It's just...well...it's not that easy. There's something about her...'

'You find her...compelling?' He lifted his eyes to hers, expecting to find a mocking smile – the old 'you're such a man' smirk. But instead he saw only genuine concern. 'I had a similar conversation with Manstaen shortly before he...disappeared. He said he didn't even like her, but he felt compelled to do her bidding.'

'Yeah, she certainly has a way of doing that to you,' he agreed, thinking how ridiculous it had been to allow her to seduce him when she was clearly taking advantage of his vulnerability. It made him angry now; why had it seemed so right at the time?

Lanae shuffled in then, peering around the room until she spotted them. 'Oh, sorry to interrupt you, but Magistra Tranaedan is asking for you, Jadrael. She wants to discuss tomorrow's duties with you.'

He laughed, shaking his head. 'Yeah, I bet she does.'

He passed his plate toward Raelzine. She took it, but reached out and caught his forearm before he could pull his arm back. 'Stay strong, Jadrael. Do not make this conversation our last as it was for Manstaen.'

He saw the colour drain from Lanae's face at the mention of Manstaen's name. She fought back tears, and disappeared again, her message delivered.

'I think she could have done without the reminder...not that she's the only one,' he pointed out, pushing up and dragging his weary carcass toward the door.

'Stay strong!' she called after him again.

He promised himself he would this time...he couldn't afford not to.

oooOOOooo

Outside Magistra Tranaedan's room Sheppard hesitated. This was stupid. He knew damn well she wasn't calling him to talk about work. The smart thing to do would be to just head to his room, but if he did that she'd probably just turn up there like she had yesterday. No, he needed to go in there and tell her straight that he wasn't interested in her advances and she should go get her kicks somewhere else.

He lifted his hand, ready to knock, but stopped again. Something told him to leave – a voice that didn't sound like his own subconscious, but a separate entity entirely. It told him it was dangerous – like he didn't know that already – but he dismissed it. This was a conversation that needed to happen. He couldn't deal with the consequences of her husband's suspicions anymore.

With that in mind, he knocked on the door before he could talk himself out of it.

Magistra Tranaedan called for him to enter, so he slowly pushed the door open and edged inside. She wasn't in the first area of her room, and when he headed on and peered through the archway to the bedroom, all he found was a trail of clothing leading toward her bathroom.

_Oh, crap!_

'What's taking you so long, John?' she called to him through that final archway.

She was using his real name again. That was definitely a bad sign. 'I thought I'd just wait out here for you.'

'Well, how are you going to help me if you're out there?' she chimed back, merriment in her tone. Oh, she was enjoying this way too much.

'Lanae told me you wanted to discuss my duties for tomorrow,' he replied, ignoring the question.

'Yes, but first I need you to help me in here. Come through, John – please.'

Please? She was really pulling out all the stops this time. First real names, now manners. Taking a deep breath and repeating Raelzine's words of 'Stay strong,' over to himself, he headed through that last arch to see the one area of her suite he'd not visited yet.

The room beyond it was every bit as extravagant as the rest of her suite, floor to ceiling in a blue-veined, marble like stone, and sunken into the middle of it was her ladyship's bath. Right now, she was reclining in masses of bubbles, and the room was saturated by an overwhelmingly chemical smell.

'Whoa! You getting clean in there or stripping paint?' he quipped, his eyes already beginning to sting.

'You don't like my choice of bath oils? Then help me out and we'll talk in the other room.'

She lifted her slippery wet hand out of the suds and waited for him to do as he was told. He just looked at it, and folded his arms. 'I'm a pilot, remember? I don't do the bath-time routine.'

'Oh.' She lowered her hand again, pouting prettily. 'I thought after last night things had changed between us.'

'No, I think last night pretty much cemented why getting involved in anything other than work with you is detrimental to my health. We almost got killed 'cos you distracted me.'

'So I'm a distraction?' she purred, apparently pleased at the suggestion.

'I think you know you are. That's why nothing like that can happen again, and why I'm leaving this room right now.'

He turned, but she shouted out, 'Wait.'

He peered back over his shoulder at her.

'Would you at least pass me my towel?'

He looked around, spotting it on a grand leather chair over in the corner of the room. He headed over to snatch it up, and by the time he turned around again, she was standing out at the side of the bath in her birthday suit.

But rather than being the seductive image she obviously thought it should be, Sheppard couldn't help but draw in a shocked breath. Her lily-white skin was scored with red scars across her torso, around her ribs and lower abdomen in particular as well as her breasts. It stopped him dead for a second, then he averted his gaze and thrust the towel out toward her.

'What the hell happened to you?'

'What do you mean?' she asked wrapping the towel around her now, and looking somewhat embarrassed.

'Those scars...did your husband hurt you?'

She laughed again, but the sound was strained and her face flushed with colour as she let down her pinned up hair. 'Of course not! Could you not see the professionalism in the work?'

Now she was decent he dared face her again, realising what she meant. 'Those are operation scars? Have you been sick?'

'No! I chose these operations. They keep me young and beautiful. Curan Rabbrine does wonderful work. He took out my lower ribs to narrow my waist, flattened my stomach and enhanced my breasts. The scars show the expense and trouble I go to in staying as beautiful as I can.'

'Riigghhttt!' he drawled backing off toward the arch. He supposed it was a cultural difference that here scars were seen as a sign of wealth and desirability, whereas on Earth, the less scarring was left after an operation, the better. And perhaps the fact he found her scars off-putting made him shallow, but he was glad he'd seen them. That level of vanity was an absolute passion killer, no question about it. It made leaving her room a hell of a lot easier.

'Well, you got your towel, so now I'm outta here.' He told her, stalking away through to her bedroom.

'Stay where you are!'

The words were pointless, because she'd already operated his cuffs and he'd slammed back against her extensive wardrobe. Was there nothing in this house not infused with magnetic metals? He supposed this was where she set about him with her cattle prod again, but he absolutely would not give ground this time. He'd learned enough about her now to know what a piece of work she was. Everything about her was hollow and insubstantial, and no matter how alluring she might think she was, that was all he could see now.

As she approached, drawing a sheer dressing gown about herself, he glared his defiance. She wasn't getting any satisfaction out of him tonight, not one, single second.

'Don't be so angry, John. I can't help the way I feel.'

He gave her his best crooked smile, but it remained laced with ire. 'Don't give me that crap. This isn't about me at all.'

'Yes it is,' she insisted, running her hands up his chest until they rested on his shoulders. 'You're very important to me.'

That much he believed. All he needed to do now was figure out why because it wasn't any kind of genuine interest in him that kept bringing her back. 'Sure I am.'

'Would one night with me really be so bad?' she asked, stroking his cheek now.

He jerked his head away from her touch. 'Yeah...actually it would. And I'm pretty sure your husband would agree on that.'

Her gaze hardened instantly. 'Leave him out of this.'

'It's pretty hard to when he's already breathing down my neck about the way you act around me. I want no part of whatever little plan is forming in that head of yours. Count me out.'

'Really?'

Suddenly, Sheppard felt dizzy, almost drunk, and he found his mind drifting...drifting to how good that kiss last night had felt...

He snapped himself back from his reverie. 'Really.'

She pouted, the turned abruptly and headed to her dressing table. She picked something up and strode back over to him.

The doors he was stuck to unexpectedly slid a few inches apart, drawing his cuffs with them. 'Are you absolutely sure about that?' she taunted, waving the remote that operated the wardrobes in front of him.

'Absolutely.'

The doors inched apart a fraction more, sliding behind other doors either side and tugging his arms a little more. So not the cattle prod then?

The wicked glint in her eyes had him worried now, but he wasn't about to be bullied into changing his mind. He stared her down, flinching this time as the doors inched back and the cuffs began to dig uncomfortably into his skin.

'This isn't going to work,' he grunted.

'No? Why is that?'

'Because you won't see it through.'

She snorted, looking on him with complete contempt now. 'You think you know ne so well? You think I'm not capable of killing a slave? Why do you imagine I insist my carpets are crimson?'

He looked down at the floor, and yeah, now she mentioned it, there were irregular patterns in the deep pile, possibly caused by spilled blood that couldn't completely be cleaned away. Nice thought. She and Magister Tranaedan were clearly made for one another, but it didn't change his mind.

Another few inches and she forced a reluctant cry from him. His arms strained, his skin stinging under his cuffs and his muscles quivering with the strain. Beads of sweat burst out on his face and ran down his temples, but he held firm. He wouldn't be pushed around like this, not by her, not by anyone. 'You won't do this because you need me.'

Another incremental increase in the strain made him grate out another cry, this time louder. She didn't appear to be gaining any satisfaction from this anymore, he noticed. Apparently, the pain wasn't what this was about, and the fact she couldn't budge him on his decision had her worried.

With a screech of frustration, she deactivated his cuffs and he dropped to his hands and knees, his trembling arms barely able to stop him from face-planting on that bloodstained shag pile.

'Go and sleep in your grimy bed in that cold room alone then,' she spat, her petulance erupting into tears as she screeched at him. 'Be a slave if that's what you really want. Serve my husband and defy me if you think that's what will make you happiest. But you're wrong...I don't need you.'

He struggled back to his feet and stared her down. She was lying, he could see it in her eyes. She _did_ need him. He was essential to her plan. 'Good night, Magistra,' he panted, and struck out for the door.

'If you leave now you'll regret it!'

Her shrill threat did little to deter him and he headed out through the bedroom, leaving her stamping the floor like a spoilt child behind him. Then he darted for the servant's staircase to go ensconce himself in his room for the night and get some much needed rest. He'd had just about as much of Magistra Tranaedan as he could take for one day. The only reason he would ever venture back into her room would be to try to get the control of the exit ramp and the key to her vehicle...and if she got in his way _she_ would regret it.

Of course, when he got halfway up the flight of stairs and suddenly found his right cuff stuck to the rail, he assumed she'd chosen to pursue him.

Unfortunately, he was wrong.

When he turned around to give her a serious piece of his mind, it was Magister Tranaedan he saw slowly mounting the staircase behind him.

His limbs suddenly felt weaker than ever.

'Jadrael. Why did I just see you leaving my wife's room?'

Though certain his heart was hammering so fast his whole body was shaking with every beat, Sheppard did his best to keep a cool exterior. 'Magistra Tranaedan wanted to discuss tomorrow's duties with me, Magister.' Though he maintained eye contact while speaking, he now quickly dipped his head to avoid engendering confrontation.

From under lowered brows, Sheppard saw the man nod, again very slowly. 'I see. And what were those duties?'

Crap! And he'd stupidly thought that answer would get him out of trouble. 'Uh...well, we didn't actually finalise anything...'

'You didn't discuss tomorrow's plans at all, did you?'

Seeing no point in continuing the premise, Sheppard shook his head. 'No...Magister...'

'Had other ideas, did she?'

Sheppard looked up to see the Magister's eyes burning into him, and though he knew the thought almost reduced him to the level of a small child, he couldn't help thinking how unfair his situation was. He just couldn't win.

'Did you not think it odd that she would call you to her room at this time of night?'

Though he knew he was diving into dangerous territory, Sheppard's annoyance flared. 'With all due respect, Magister Tranaedan, the Magistra is apparently my "owner". I figured that meant if she gave me an order I should follow it.'

Tranaedan was clearly unimpressed with his attitude, but for the moment let it slide. 'So there is no order she could give that you would refuse?'

His eyes glinted with repressed anger, and Sheppard sensed he was teetering on the brink of lashing out. With one arm already pinned, he would struggle to defend himself against someone Tranaedan's size. He needed to play this more carefully. 'No, Magister. There are certain things I will not do, but discussing duties is not one of them.'

'So what _did_ you discuss?'

'I think you should speak to your wife about that.'

The magister actually smiled and nodded his understanding. 'You're very loyal, Jadrael. Do you think she would be so protective of you if the roles were reversed?'

'Well, if you speak with her, I guess we'll find out, Magister.'

The man kept him pinned with his eyes, his smile widening. 'I suppose I will. You're fortunate I know exactly how long you were in her room and know nothing too intimate could actually have happened between you – though I suspect that was your choice not hers.'

Lifting his chin, Sheppard stayed silent. He wasn't about to drop Magistra Tranaedan in trouble with a man he suspected capable of harming her. If the Magister had an issue with the way his wife behaved, he could discuss it with her himself. He would take no responsibility for anything he might do to her.

'You will not talk to me, Jadrael?'

Jeez, this guy didn't give up. He'd met some jealous types in his time, even dated one or two in his dim and distant past, but no one quite as psychotic as this guy. He made Julia Roberts' other half in Sleeping with the Enemy look like a model husband.

'What's the point?' he asked, bordering on hysterical laughter. 'You've already made your mind up that I'm wrong about...something. I can't win. If I defy her, _she _punishes me. If I obey her, _you_ punish me. The two of you should get some help and leave me out of whatever crazy game you're playing here.'

Tranaedan's eyes narrowed and Sheppard knew he'd said too much. 'This is not a game, Jadrael, but there are rules...rules you must learn quickly if you want to stay alive. Magistra Tranaedan_ is_ your owner, but I am your absolute master, and no matter what punishment she threatens you with, you must never, ever do anything you know will displease me. That includes entering my wife's room when the two of you are alone.' He began to unbuckle his belt and Sheppard's throat seized. What the hell did he plan to do to him? 'Since I have already warned you twice of your need to be careful in how you deal with my wife, perhaps a more physical demonstration of my disappointment will get the message through.'

It was almost with a sense of relief that Sheppard watched Tranaedan rip his belt from his clothing, then turn it on him...buckle end first, of course. He instinctively turned away and covered his head with his free arm in defence, feeling it thump into his back and making him hiss. Then it hit again, lower this time, whacking against the back of his left thigh. Each thrash of that belt took his breath away, the hard metal buckle ripping his clothes and a little of his skin with each strike, the residual sting building steadily into raging, burning torturous agony. With each additional lash, he felt his clothes growing sticky with blood, that buckle battering its way through his physical and mental defences time and time again until he finally cried out under the constant beating. This wasn't just punishment, this was Tranaedan taking out pent up frustrations he could no longer suppress. This was physical rage on a scale that had never been unleashed on Sheppard before. Even the Wraith feeding at Kolya's hands had felt more humane than this.

The blows kept coming, shredding cloth and skin alike, punctuated only by punches to his kidney region that turned his legs to Jell-O. When they began to buckle, Tranaedan very kindly lifted him, pushing his back against the wall where he held him up so he could lash at him some more. Each blow of that damn buckle left him burning, the strikes stealing away his breath and leaving him dizzy. His whole body now felt aflame with pain and hot blood. His strength was utterly spent; surely the guy planned to finish this now and put him out of his misery.

Tranaedan let go of him and stood back, panting heavily and straightening his hair as if it helped to restore his inner calm if his exterior looked more presentable. Then, out of the blue, he swung his knee up into Sheppard's groin and his world exploded in unimaginable pain, his legs finally giving up the battle and leaving him swinging from that one magnetised cuff.

'My wife can be a most persuasive woman. Now you won't be able to satisfy her for a while, even if she tries to convince you that you should,' Tranaedan growled.

Sheppard hurt so much he couldn't even draw breath. He clamped his eyes shut and curled up as best he could, trying to find some relief from the agony when his cuff suddenly unclamped itself from the rail and he pitched down the staircase, thudding against the seven or eight stone steps he'd run up before Tranaedan stopped him. He hit the bottom hard, but even that didn't compare to that final shot from his "master".

Thankfully, his brain decided that was a good moment for a time-out, and swept him off into the blissful comfort of unconsciousness.

oooOOOooo

With the other three jumpers cloaked and tucked in close behind them, Major Lorne brought his craft in to land outside the gates of Uno. Reynolds dutifully disembarked via the rear hatch and entered their code into the keypad at the gate, but from his position in the pilot seat, Lorne saw he was having some kind of difficulty.

He headed out to join him, watching the officer clear and then enter the code again. All he got in response was a tinny voice telling him, 'Access denied'.

'Great,' he grunted. 'Give it up, Reynolds. We're not getting in this way.'

They headed back onto their craft, where Elizabeth sat waiting expectantly. 'Sorry, Ma'am,' he said, throwing her a grim smile. 'Looks like they locked us out.'

'That no good son of a...'

The rest of his boss's comment was uttered so quietly he didn't quite catch it, but the sentiment was clear enough. 'So, what now?' he asked, dropping heavily into his pilot seat.

Elizabeth stared out of the windshield at the monstrous gates blocking their way, her jaw set in an angry jut. 'I'm guessing they found out about our run in with the locals. Now they don't want to answer our questions. Well, I'm going to find out what the hell is going on here if it's the last thing I do. Radek, can you get us through these gates?'

'I can try,' the little man replied, and Lorne sent two of his men out with the scientist while he worked on overriding the gate controls.

It was dark out there, and cold now with the rear hatch open. Elizabeth pulled the collar of her jacket in tighter around her throat and shivered, huddling up in her seat. 'I get the impression the government aren't entirely against the kidnapping of outsiders,' she told him, wrapping her arms around herself. 'I just wonder why that is.'

Lorne thought about it, too, and he didn't like the possibility his mind came up with. 'Do you think they have some kind of people trafficking thing going here?' he asked.

She sighed, he shoulders slumping at the thought. 'I sincerely hope not. But if they have, let's hope they keep it within the Centum Civis. If they've sold our people on to another race in the Pegasus Galaxy, we may never find them.'

For the first time, Lorne felt his hope slipping. Elizabeth was right. If Sheppard and his team, and now Garelli and the others, had been taken off world, dragged through one 'gate after another to hide their tracks, it could be next to impossible to trace them.

'Well, they haven't had time to get our marines through to the gate yet. If they do take them off world and we follow them, we might be able to find the others.'

Elizabeth turned her huge eyes his way, forcing on a smile. 'Well, that would be a bonus. Let's hope we get lucky.'

They sank into silence then, watching Zelenka work. Even after the passage of a not insubstantial length of time, the gates remained obdurately closed to them. Lorne sensed things were not going well. Zelenka was a smart man; if those gates could be overridden, he would have done it by now.

As if in response to his silent thoughts, Zelenka turned toward them and gave a shrug of defeat, heading back toward the jumper. Once they were all back on board, Lorne closed up the hatch to allow the ship to warm up.

'Problems?' Elizabeth asked the Czech.

'Their gate controls are governed by an incredibly complex coding system. There are dozens of codes, all interconnected and all have to be decrypted in the correct order. I can write a program to work through it, but it could take days to crack.'

'That's...disappointing,' Elizabeth sighed, rubbing at her forehead.

'But I do have another idea,' Zelenka ventured.

Lorne felt a thrill at those words. Zelenka's plan 'B's were usually sound and if it meant they might gain ingress to that city, he was all ears.

'What is it?' Elizabeth asked, looking hopeful.

'I've taken some readings of the shield over their city. I have managed to locate several strong energy readings at points around the circumference of the wall that I believe to be the shield generators. Based on the kind of power it uses, I feel certain that if I can set off an EM pulse at the right resonance, we can disrupt at least one of the generators long enough to fly our cloaked jumpers into Uno.'

'Or we could save time and take out the shield generators with a drone,' Lorne pointed out, ever the pragmatist.

The little scientist looked at him, wide-eyed. 'Yes...yes, we do have that option, but the first minister may not look too kindly on us if we go around firing drones on him. Perhaps he would be more likely to cooperate if we tried a more gentle approach.'

'Guys like that respond to one thing and one thing only,' Lorne told him. 'We need to get heavy, make him feel threatened. He's not gonna put his own ass on the line for the sake of keeping a few extra slaves.'

'How long do you think it will take you to set up the pulse?' Elizabeth asked Zelenka diverting them back to that course of action.

He shrugged. 'Hard to say exactly, but not too long. I just need to identify the optimum point to set it off and then calculate the size of the EM burst required – an hour, perhaps a little longer.'

'So, we could have this done tonight?'

'Yes...I believe so.'

'All right, Major. I appreciate your suggestion, but I'm going to hold your plan in reserve for now.' Then she turned to Zelenka. 'Do it.'

Though disappointed that she'd chosen to take the slower route in, Lorne understood Elizabeth's need to exhaust the diplomatic route before leaning on the government to force their hand.

'I need to go back to Atlantis and collect the EM device and a naquadah generator to boost the pulse.'

Lorne jumped in at that point. 'Ma'am, perhaps it would be an idea for one of the other teams to take Dr Zelenka back to Atlantis, and we can stay here with the others and keep trying to hail the government. That way, if we get in while they're gone, we can carry on with our original plan to tackle Thalaezin about those lies he's been telling us.'

She nodded. 'I agree. Radek, head back to Lieutenant Harding's craft and he can take you through to collect your equipment.'

Lorne radioed through to the lieutenant's craft while the scientist disembarked to put his plan into action. Once he was gone, Lorne closed up the hatch and fired up the radio communications system.

'You wanna take the lead on this Dr Weir?' he asked.

She sat up straight, tugging her jacket and clearing her throat. 'Oh hell, yes. I have a whole bunch of things I'd like to say to First Minister Thalaezin, and I mean to say them myself.'

He smirked and opened the channel, letting her convey their message, Dr Weir wasn't an overtly aggressive type, but she sure had a barbed tongue if someone pushed her buttons. He couldn't think of a single person more suited to telling First Minister Thalaezin that they didn't trust him, so he sat back and let her do her thing.


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: Thanks to everyone for your kind words last time. They mean a lot to me. And in answer to Suayzami's question, yes we are going to see Ronon soon...in fact, he's coming up today! :D**

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****Chapter 19 (3868)**

_Sheppard woke to the sensation of being dragged by his ankles across a floor, the cold metal beneath him scratching his back with its visibly imperceptible imperfections, all of them too minute for the naked eye to see, but agony against his battered body._

_He couldn't move or fight back, still crippled with pain from Tranaedan's blows. His body ached from the various welts and bruises he'd inflicted, his position and mode of movement doing nothing to ease his pain._

_He strained his head up long enough to see it was Tranaedan himself who was towing him along. This was bad...very bad. But he couldn't kick out to free himself – any movement...any jolt...releasing bursts of extraordinary pain that left him breathless and shaking._

_When they finally came to a halt, he saw they were in Tranaedan's gallery. Ahead of him, when he dared lift his head, the alcove where he'd previously seen Manstaen's body gaped empty, like a waiting grave._

'_Did you honestly think you could get away with such impropriety?' Tranaedan raged, somewhere in the room, somewhere he couldn't see him yet._

_A mechanical buzz caught Sheppard's attention, and he watched as a large metal hook zipped around on a system of wires near the ceiling above him. Eventually, it stopped straight above him and lowered until it was only inches above his chest. What the hell was that for?_

_He let his head fall back to the floor with a thump and found Tranaedan looming over him, the cuff control in his hand. 'You have no right to touch my wife. No other man has that right. You understand I cannot let this go unpunished.'_

_He wanted to reply, to say something cutting and witty, but found he had no voice. In fact, he felt oddly detached, as if his body didn't belong to him, although the pain was real enough. He was most likely concussed after the fall..._

_Tranaedan activated the cuffs and Sheppard's wrists shot up and latched onto the hook, his arms now dangling and throbbing from the strain on them. His tormentor disappeared from view again, and a few moments later, the hook began to retract to the ceiling, taking Sheppard up with it. _

_He swung several feet above the ground, his shoulders feeling like they might pop from their sockets. When he did make a noise, it didn't sound like his own voice crying out, and he felt as if he had no control over the groans issuing from his mouth. They came whether he wanted them to or not._

'_I didn't really want to do this. Good pilots are so hard to find...But you force my hand, Manstaen. This is how it must be.'_

Manstaen? Why is he calling me that?_ He tried to tell him that wasn't his name, but again, nothing would come out of his mouth. Sheppard watched in horror as Tranaedan took a cover off something housed a few feet away from where he hung, and began pushing it into place beneath him. It was the spiked display stand he'd seen Manstaen skewered on. He was about to become the latest piece of art in Tranaedan's collection._

_But no...it wasn't that. This was something else. When he looked up to his arms to see if he could grasp onto the hook he saw they weren't his. They were thicker, more muscled, and less hairy than his, and his fingers were broad and short. Looking down, his body also looked stockier, and he was wearing different clothes...clothes like those he'd been given to wear before Magistra Tranaedan had bought him new ones. He wasn't just enduring the same fate as Manstaen, he was Manstaen._

_Before he could absorb that realisation Tranaedan released him from where he hung, sending him plummeting down onto the hideous spikes below. They drove through his body and limbs, skewering him but not killing him. And there he remained, unable to help himself, his own body weight slowly driving the stakes further through him and sealing his fate._

_Tranaedan watched on silently at first, the colonel only aware of his feet still standing before him since he was too weak to lift his bowed head. It stayed that way for what felt like an age before Tranaedan stepped forward and lifted his chin so he had to look at him._

_The man was completely unmoved by his plight, regarding him in much the same way he might a trapped rat he was about to bludgeon. His eyes were cold, utterly emotionless, and his face showed no other outward sign of compassion either. _

_Then he tipped his head and said, 'The sensory wishes to speak with you.'_

Sheppard jolted awake, immediately regretting it as he was reminded of his own very real injuries. His cry brought him the attentions of the other person there in his room, someone he would have preferred not to see again.

'All right...all right. Keep still before you do yourself more mischief!' a harsh voice barked.

Curan Rabbrine grabbed his upper arms and forced him back down against the bed, and rather worryingly, he found he didn't have the strength to resist.

'Lie back, Jadrael. You've taken quite a fall,' he heard Magistra Tranaedan tell him, only then realising she was in the room with him, too. She leaned into view, giving him the kind of look that said he shouldn't elaborate on how he had really come by his injuries. Like he cared whether she was threatening him now. He doubted she could make him feel much worse than he already did.

'Get that bastard away from me,' he growled, watching the doctor now checking several pieces of equipment that had been set up in his room while he was unconscious.

'Hush now. Let the man do his work. He's here to help you,' the magistra chided, stroking back his hair.

He hissed and flinched as she ran her hand over a bump on his forehead. 'What, like he helped you?'

Her eyes hardened, and, figuring he'd already got himself into enough trouble for one night, he clamped his mouth shut and told himself to cool down. He had a knack for winding people up when he was in jeopardy, and he didn't think his body could handle the consequences right now.

Rabbrine returned to his bedside, pulled down his grubby blankets and swabbed one of the various cuts decorating his torso with what felt like a piece of sandpaper the way he wielded it.

'Ow! Son of a bitch!' Sheppard wheezed before pressing his lips tight together to stop the scream he wanted to let out. He wouldn't give that little bastard the satisfaction.

'I beg your pardon?' Rabbrine snorted, clearly puzzled by the nature of his outburst.

'Nothin',' the colonel told him, breathing through it as the man inserted the swab into a device and set the thing into action. ''S just that your bedside manner could use a little work.'

After a few more minutes studying various readings, Rabbrine announced, 'Well, other than his obvious injuries, he's absolutely fine. No signs of infection. A few days of bed rest should see him back on his feet.'

'A few days? But I have somewhere I need to be tomorrow. How am I supposed to get there?' the Magistra protested.

'I suppose you'll have to hire outside help until he's on his feet. I doubt he could even walk down to the vehicle store right now, let alone safely pilot a transport. Perhaps you should consider purchasing a less _careless _slave.'

From the way he said that, it was obvious Rabbrine knew this had been no accident, but why should he care? He'd held a knife to the man's throat. He probably saw this as some kind of Pegasus style Karma.

The magistra let out a huge sigh and plonked herself down on the edge of Sheppard's bed, rocking him and setting his pains alight all over again. 'This really is very inconvenient,' she huffed as he battled with a whimper.

'Inconvenient... yeah, that was just the word I was thinking of,' he groaned, pressing his head back against his badly stuffed pillow while he rode out the additional discomfort. His whole body felt like it was both bruised and shredded, and he couldn't even begin to put into words how bad his assets felt. That had literally been a low blow.

'Well, as I said, his bloods show no signs of infection,' Rabbrine announced, 'so there's nothing I can give him except something to dull the pain...and in my opinion that's just throwing good money after bad with this one.'

'Yeah, thanks for that, you crazy quack,' Sheppard muttered, raising his hand shakily to cover his watering eyes. Even the dull lamp in his room was too bright for his headache to deal with. This did not feel like something a few days of rest would fix. And he wouldn't put it past the man to lie just to get back at him.

'Thank you, Curan Rabbrine. You've set my mind at ease. You know your way out.'

He packed up his bags, putting away the various instruments he'd strewn about the place, then left saying she would have his bill in the morning.

Once he was gone, Sheppard peeked out at Magistra Tranaedan, who remained perched on the edge of his bed.

'You're lucky my husband didn't kill you,' she said without turning to look at him.

The memory of his freaky nightmare came back to him, making him shudder and sending ripples of pains shooting off in numerous directions through his body. 'Yeah. I know that,' he croaked, his throat drying at the memory.

'In future, you must be more careful when you leave my room...you cannot slam about that way. For one thing, it isn't appropriate for someone of your station –'

'There isn't going to be a next time,' he asserted, stopping her in mid-lecture.

That got her attention, and she turned his way, bouncing the bed again and making him cringe. 'What do you mean?'

'Your husband has made it pretty clear he knows exactly what you're up to, don't you think?' he pointed out, glaring at her.

Her jaw dropped. 'But...I paid richly for your services...you can't refuse me now!'

'And you paid for me with Magister Tranaedan's money. Doesn't that strike you as just the teensiest bit distasteful?'

She grabbed his arm, her fingers digging into his throbbing biceps. He would have shaken her loose if he hadn't thought it would hurt more than her grip did. 'You don't know what it's like to be me. I need to get out of here, and I need you to help me do that.'

'Yeah, well, you can count me out, honey. From now on, you wanna give me orders, you can do it in front of your husband.'

Her eyes narrowed, as if she thought she could read how to play him better that way, then she blurted out, 'It's foolishness to save yourself for your stinking Wraith half-breed friend. She's probably dead already.'

That struck a nerve, one that hurt almost as much as his physical injuries. 'I'm not saving myself for her or anyone else. That's not why –' He stopped, squinting up at her. 'Hang on...I don't remember telling you my friend had Wraith DNA.' He'd only told Raelzine that, and he doubted the old woman was one for gossiping with her mistress, or anyone else for that matter. Had she been listening in on them?

Magistra Tranaedan looked panicked, her hand rising to toy with a decorative jewel adorning the front of her emerald coloured dress. 'Yes you did...when we were out flying yesterday. I distinctly remember it.'

He _distinctly_ remembered not telling her that, because he thought Magistra Tranaedan was the type to tell the government what he'd said, just to wield that power over him.

'Well, you lie all you like. I _know _what I said,' he replied coolly.

Her jaw hung again as she calculated what that meant. He could literally see her scheming, trying to think of some new tactic, some new angle she could approach him from that would change his mind.

'So, are you actually going to let my husband intimidate you this way? You, the leader of a great rebellion?'

He wondered what she meant, then recalled the lies he'd fed her about where he and his friends came from. 'Yeah, well, the circumstances are a little different here...'

'I thought you were better than this, John,' she sighed, shaking her head. 'But you're just like all the others...a disappointment.'

Did she really think she could persuade him to defy her husband to prove his masculinity? He managed a laugh, even though it hurt. 'Not quite like the others. I'm still alive.'

'It doesn't have to stay that way,' she threatened. 'What if I tell my husband you came to my room to take revenge in a few days when you've recovered? A few torn clothes and bruises and I'm sure I could convince him.'

He rolled his eyes, setting off a stabbing pain in his head. Screwing his eyes shut against it he grunted, 'You do that if it makes you feel good...but it won't do your great plan much use, will it?'

Losing her temper, she lashed out at him, and, already battered black and blue, all he could do was curl up until she finished venting. Just like her husband, she then smoothed out her hair and clothes before rising serenely from the bed.

'This isn't over, John. You needn't think for one moment that you've won.'

Then she left him, nursing his fresh bruises and wishing Atlantis would get him the hell out of there before the magistra took this stupid game to the next level.

Then, another concern took precedence. How had she known about Teyla?

oooOOOooo

At Mercator Ashnael's house, Ronon blinked himself awake for the first time in days. He didn't recognise the house around him, having no memory of anything after passing out in the sands near that great circle in the desolate landscape they'd crashed in.

He got to his knees, then carefully pushed up, making sure his legs would hold him. His side twinged, and when he lifted his tunic, he saw two dressings there. Ripping one off revealed a short trail of stitches. Surgery? He really didn't remember that. He didn't remember putting on the olive green tunic and trousers he was wearing either...or the silver cuffs he was now sporting on each of his wrists for that matter. They really weren't his style.

He turned full circle to examine his surroundings, spotting a camera trained on him up in one corner, but very little else. The room was bare, just blank walls and a solid metal floor. Only a door broke the monotony of the white barriers around him, but even that was white, its faint outline breaking up the otherwise pristine surface .

He prowled the room for a few seconds then stood stock-still and yelled, 'Sheppard!'

The only response he got was the sound of the camera focusing in on him. If the ceilings weren't so damned high he would have been up there tearing it down by now.

'Sheppard!'

This time a voice spoke to him from outside the door. 'Ronon, back up to the far wall and I'll come in to talk to you.'

The voice sounded vaguely familiar, but he knew it wasn't one of his friends. That immediately unsettled him. Why were none of his team there to answer him?

'Yeah, done it,' he lied, walking up to the door and preparing to tackle whoever might walk in.

'The camera, Ronon. You can't fool me. Now, if you want me to come in and answer the questions I know must be burning away in that magnificent head of yours, back off to the far wall.'

Ronon scowled at nothing in particular, but, figuring he had no other option, he backed away until he was right up against the far wall, just as instructed.

The door opened then and Ashnael stepped inside, looking way too pleased with himself for Ronon's liking. 'You?' he grunted, recalling the man from when he collapsed. He hadn't liked his face then, and he liked it even less now. 'Where am I?' he demanded, about to rush forward.

Ashnael just pulled a gun from the back of his belt – Ronon's particle magnum. Now that was just plain insulting. This guy had to have a death wish. 'Easy, Ronon. There's no need to get testy.'

'No? So where are my friends?' he demanded, all the time trying to figure out if he could make a leap for his weapon before Ashnael used it on him.

'They had to go. They left you here.'

Ronon wasn't so dumb he didn't know a lie when he heard it. Sheppard and Teyla would never have willingly left him alone with a stranger. McKay, he wasn't so sure about, although he might possibly stay if he thought the guilt would haunt him.

'You're lying,' he growled.

'Oh, you think so. Then where are they?' the little man asked him, gesturing for him to look around the empty room.

'You did something' to 'em.'

Ashnael laughed. 'So untrusting, Ronon. And after I saved your life.'

Ronon's hand subconsciously slipped up to where the second dressing still lay beneath his shirt.

'That's right. I paid for the operations that saved you. Me, not your friends.'

'Why didn't you take us back to the 'gate? There were people who could help me back home.'

'There wasn't time. Besides, I wouldn't have benefitted from letting you go like that, would I?'

Ronon frowned, wondering what he meant by that. This guy talked too much in his opinion, and not much of it made sense...pretty much like McKay. 'And how're you benefitting exactly?'

The man smiled a little too broadly at that question, tucking the gun away and unhooking something else from the back of his belt. It was a telescopic baton, one he extended with a sharp flick of his wrist. 'I get a new sparring partner.'

Unhooking another, similar weapon, he tossed it so it slid across the floor and struck Ronon's boots. He bent down cautiously so as not to strain his stitches and emulated Ashnael's action, extending the baton to its full three feet of smooth metal. The grin he gave in return was far more feral. 'Bring it on.'

Ashnael sliced the air with a sudden swing, but Ronon dodged it, feeling the pull in his side. He circled the man, never taking his eyes off him, making sure his opponent couldn't attempt a strike without him seeing it. But apparently Ashnael was quite adept at this sport, moving one way, feinting, then striking a different way, catching his right hip.

Ronon jumped back, again feeling the strain on his still too recently stitched wounds. He suspected he should be more careful about how he moved because, from what he recalled, he'd had no external injuries other than bruises on his side when he'd passed out. That meant the surgery had been to fix something internal, and he was risking a relapse, but the desire to wipe the smile of this smug bastard's face was too much of a draw for the Satedan to resist.

He launched himself, but the slippery little creep avoided the blow, Ronon's baton clanging against the metal ground with a hollow, mocking ring.

'Not bad, but not good enough, Ronon. And I had such high hopes for you,' Ashnael sneered. 'Come on, try harder!'

Ronon obliged by lashing out so quickly he swept Ashnael's right leg from under him. The man was well-balanced, spinning on one hand back up to his feet, though he did appear to be limping now. And his smile was gone. That alone made the burning sensation in Ronon's side worth it.

'Better. What say we step up the pace?'

The man began to dance around him at speed, striking randomly, some of them reaching their target, but some of them blocked. Ronon soon began to realise he was far from at his peak. Sweat beaded on his forehead already, and they'd barely even started. He felt shaky, too; that couldn't be a good sign.

Ashnael continued to pull his clever moves, getting in blows that proved more annoying than painful. In contrast, Ronon felt sluggish and out of breath, but he wasn't going to let that stop him winning.

With a primal scream, he leapt into his trademark move, jumping high in the air and slamming down with his baton on the back of Ashnael's neck. The man went sprawling this time, and he was clearly not happy with the turn of events. Unfortunately, he rolled out of the way before Ronon could thrash him again, backing away and rubbing his neck with definite tears in his eyes.

'Good move. You'll have to show me how you do that,' he panted, apparently more hurt than he wanted to let on.

'I'd be happy to show you again,' Ronon grunted, homing in on him. But his momentary sense of victory was short lived when Ashneal ducked low and swivelled on one foot, sweeping both of Ronon's legs from under him before he could jump back out of harm's way.

He hit the floor hard, winding himself, feeling a worrying popping sensation in his side and a sudden increase in his pain. A warm damp sensation spread across his tunic. He stayed still, figuring this fight was over...for now.

Ashnael stood over him. 'Now that's more like it. Know your place, slave. I might let you get in a few strikes, but I will never forgive you for knocking me down.'

'What did you call me?' Ronon growled, his hackles rising again.

'_Slave_,' Ashnael repeated very deliberately, squatting beside him, the corner of his lips twitching up into a smile. 'And you'd better get used to it, boy.'

The red mist consumed him, and Ronon grabbed hold of Ashnael's ankle, ripping his foot from the floor and sending him crashing down again. But his rebellion came to a swift and abrupt end when his hand was dragged clear by an irresistible power that drew his arm to the floor and pinned it there, along with his other wrist, too.

Ashnael now clutched something that had been hanging on a chain under his shirt, something that apparently had some effect on those shiny new metal cuffs he was wearing. He pulled against them as hard as he could, which, admittedly, wasn't as hard as he would normally have hoped to, but they wouldn't budge.

'As I said, I will not forgive you for taking me down,' Ashneal said quietly, his voice completely flat and emotionless as he stood astride him, his breath quivering in and out of him in short pants as if this were all exciting to him. 'And for a second offence, there has to be a punishment.'

Then, with a vicious grin, he pounded down on him until Ronon finally lost consciousness.


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: For those of you waiting for your Teyla and Rodney updates - here you go. :) **

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****Chapter 20 **

Teyla had spent several restless hours trying to sleep, but she was having trouble acclimatising to her new and very uncomfortable surroundings. Her mattress was lumpy and smelled disgusting, and though she was used to living without the luxuries Atlantis provided, she had never before been forced to live in such squalor.

Eventually, she rose from her bed and walked out into the enclosure. At least there she could see the stars and feel a little less ensnared. Wrapping her arms around herself for warmth, she found herself once again engulfed by frustration at her fellow captives' apparent inertia. Why were they so willing to sit by and make no attempt to free themselves from this imprisonment? Why would they not at least help her so she could alert others to their plight?

She strolled quietly over to the edge of the enclosure, laying a hand on the thick wall holding them all in. Never before had she felt such a burning need to utterly destroy something – other than the Wraith, of course. She couldn't help but feel this wall, this cordoning, was complicit in the illness that was so rampant among these people, in the malaise she was now suffering herself. It wasn't anything contagious, Sangaela had told her as much. There was no pattern to the spread of the sickness, and no obvious way of containing it as they had tried isolating victims in the past and it had done no good. The outbreaks were random, and once a person got sick, they never recovered. This disease was fatal, and was decimating them. And she sensed it was something to do with their location.

'You are right.' Sangaela's voice made her start, but she soon recovered and turned to give the woman a warm smile. 'I'm sorry, did I wake you?'

'No...I was not sleeping well. I take it you were not either.'

'No, I have too much on my mind right now to rest.' She stared up at the sky a while, then looked over at her aged companion. 'Tell me, why do your people not try to break out of here if this place makes you so sick?'

'We have always lived here,' Sangaela said with a shrug. 'Where else would we go?'

'Somewhere safer.'

The old woman looked even more weary than usual tonight, Teyla noticed, and she wondered now for the first time if Sangaela was sick, too.

'Yes, I am sick, child,' the woman replied, as if she had voiced her question out loud. 'But I am not leaving this world just yet. I will live to see your friend set the wheels of change in motion on this planet before I finally take my rest.'

'I'm sure you will see many moons yet,' Teyla assured her, reaching out to rub her arm.

'Not many, but enough to see the beginning of change for my people,' Sangaela corrected, displaying no fear at the prospect. Teyla supposed death for the peoples of such a society would be seen as an alleviation of their pain and suffering – a welcome friend, not a dreaded enemy.

'You feel the need to help your friends...that's what keeps you up this night,' Sangaela stated, wandering over to a nearby rustic bench, roughly carved from an old tree trunk. She sighed with relief as she sat her weary old bones down, as if even standing was beyond her tonight.

'Yes...I cannot get the images you showed me out of my mind. It is hard for me to sit here knowing they will be hurt.'

'It has already begun.' Sangaela turned her watery gaze on her younger companion, her brow puckered with pain. 'They are in danger, that much is true, and yes, there is pain. Teyla, you must trust that they will make it through this, and that your part in all this will yet come. But to play that part, you must be here.'

'I do not understand. How can I help if I am trapped here?'

'You will see when the time comes.'

Her answer added to Teyla's frustration. She understood that this woman...these people...had abilities she did not comprehend, but their vagueness when answering her questions made her feel like screaming – something she rarely felt the need to do. 'I am not used to sitting by and allowing my friends to struggle...'

'You're angered that we are so unwilling to help you get out of the enclosure?'

Teyla found Sangaela's ability to read her feelings, even when she felt so confused herself, highly disturbing. But she nodded – yes, she did feel angry that they had refused to do anything.

'It is for your safety that they are so unwilling. You are right – with effort, we could perhaps break through that wall, but it would take time. And yes, we could structure a ladder with what materials we have...we might even be able to make one strong enough to allow several of us to climb out with you, but if you head away from this enclosure, the chances are you will be dead before you reach any of the cities.'

'Why?'

'There are creatures that dwell in the lands between, outside of these Forbidden Zones, which survive by picking off people foolish or unfortunate enough to find themselves in their territory. It is unwise to cross them by foot.'

'But when we crashed, we walked for some time and saw nothing of these creatures,' Teyla told her, confused by why this woman would exaggerate the threat these monsters supposedly posed.

'Were you within the dark circle?'

Though at first she couldn't recall, Teyla remembered the thick, dark line on the dusty ground they had stumbled across just before meeting Ashnael. 'For the most part, yes.'

'Then that is your answer. The creatures cannot bear to be near the Forbidden Zones. What exactly it is that drives them away I am not sure, but they never come here, even though they could dig up into our enclosure with ease.'

'And the cities...do they attack the cities that way?'

'No. Long ago they did, but the city dwellers have long since put in defences around their cities that mean there is only one way in and out, and that is through those three, great gates.'

'So, I am trapped here until help comes for us?' Teyla said, sadly resigning herself to the fact she was to remain ineffectual.

'For good reason,' Sangaela reiterated. 'Be patient, Teyla. You will help your friends eventually.'

Again, Teyla nodded, but her heart weighed heavily. 'And Rodney...You have not told me anything of him. Does he remain well?'

'He worries, as you do. But physically he will come to no harm at Curan Bathraen's hands.'

'Curan Bathraen! I had no idea –'

Sangaela held up her hand and Teyla fell silent. 'He will be safe, Teyla. Do not concern yourself.'

Teyla looked up to the stars, wondering where the Atlantis rescue team was. How long could it take to find the city her friends were being held captive in? It hadn't been that far away. They should all have been safe in their beds by now.

'They are trying, Teyla. But Traginta Duo is not the only city on Haraendon. It is only one of one hundred forming the Centum Civis. That is why they fail you.'

Leaning forward, Teyla rested her aching head in her hand. She had felt below par since waking up in the township, and all this thinking and worrying was serving to aggravate her constant, nagging headache.

'If you could see one of your friends, would you feel better?'

Teyla peered up at her, almost afraid to say yes, but knowing she couldn't refuse the offer. 'Perhaps. If you could show me my team leader, the pilot, and I could see he is coping, then it might strengthen my resolve.'

With a grim smile, barely visible out there in the dark, Sangaela took hold of Teyla's hand and closed her eyes.

Teyla closed her eyes, too, and after a few moments, she felt herself lifting out of her body and transported mentally to another place. She was in a house, in a small, dark room decorated with nothing but a shambolic bed and a couple of other poorly made pieces of furniture. Someone was in the bed and when he tried to roll, the groan he let out told her it was John. She would know his voice anywhere.

She pressed forward, closing in and examining his face in the dimmed lamplight. He looked bruised and battered, but he didn't look ill...a small mercy, she supposed.

'John.'

'He cannot hear you. My connection to him is too weak. Some are strong enough to do that – the Sensory in his household's service, for example – but I fear I do not have the strength.'

Though frustrated again, Teyla understood, and did not wish the woman to push herself any harder than necessary. Having assured herself that Sheppard's life was in no immediate danger, Teyla let go of Sangaela's hand and broke the connection.

'You have seen enough?'

'No,' she said, cupping her hands and blowing into them to warm her chilled fingers. 'But staying in the vision longer will do nothing other than weaken you. You have done enough. Thank you.'

Sangaela reached over and patted her knee. 'It is too cold out here for my ancient bones, so I'm afraid I will have to leave you now. Do not sit out too long. There is much work to do tomorrow. The sick do not tend themselves.'

Teyla watched her go, impressed that a woman who was so old and ill herself could still give so much time to others. These people, shunned by others on their world, had so much they could offer...so much they could teach the city dwellers...yet here they were, shut away and resigned to their fate. She hoped Sangaela was right and that the misfortune of her team could somehow bring about change for these deserving souls.

It seemed to her they had suffered more than enough in their miserable lives already.

oooOOOooo

_In his dream, Sheppard thought he had woken and could see Teyla standing beside his bed. Her face was contorted by worry, her body language tense and...angry? She didn't often lose her cool, but she definitely looked mad about something._

'_Teyla! How did you find me?' he asked._

_When she tried to answer him, her mouth moved but no words came out, as if she were shut behind thick glass the sound could not penetrate._

_She remained in his sights for a while, but then faded again, and he realised he wasn't awake at all._

That didn't last long. A damp cloth dabbing at his forehead brought him reluctantly into consciousness. Though it wasn't Teyla he saw this time, he was relieved at who now accompanied him.

'Thank, God. It's only you,' he breathed, trying to push himself up in the bed, then deciding against it when pain welled throughout his torso.

Raelzine took hold of his arm, pulling him forward and stuffing a pillow in behind him. 'Better?'

'I'll let you know once the pain stops,' he groaned, gritting his teeth against the worst of it. Thankfully, it soon settled again.

'You, young man, are very lucky to be alive,' she told him, mopping away the sweat that had broken out on his brow with the strain of moving.

'Lucky's not a word I'd use right now,' he huffed, giving her a lopsided smile.

She lifted a cup of water to his lips, but he took it from her and held it himself. Injured he might be, but he wasn't a complete invalid. Even so, he managed to spill some down his front because his hands were shaking so much.

Raelzine took the glass from him and handed him a towel to dry himself. 'I don't mind telling you – when I found you last night I thought I had said too much and tempted fate,' she said, looking ashamed.

'Hey, what happened is in no way your fault,' he assured her, letting himself fall back against his pillows for a breather. 'This is all down to Tranaedan.'

'I felt sure he'd killed you.'

'Yeah, you weren't the only one.'

The woman shook her head, her mouth now set in a grim line of true anger. 'That woman has a lot to answer for. I'd like to give her a piece of my mind.'

'But you won't – because you're not allowed to.' Again, she couldn't meet his gaze. 'It's okay; it's the thought that counts,' he told her.

That brought a smile to her face at last. 'Well, I think about it often.'

'Again, you're not the only one.'

She sat down on the edge of his bed, careful not to hurt him. 'Oh, but you have the courage to do it, don't you, my boy? That's why you look like this today.'

'That and getting caught in the wrong place at the wrong time,' he told her. 'He saw me leaving the magistra's room. The only reason he didn't kill me is because he knew I hadn't been in there long enough to get up to anything with her.'

'And yet he beat you?'

'It was a lesson in which of my two owners I should pay the most attention to.' Still not comfortable, he pushed up a little higher on the pillows, putting up with the pain shooting through his injured extremities and legs. He felt cold and slightly clammy, his clothes sticking to his raw wounds and dragging against them. 'He wanted to make sure I couldn't be any use to her...if you know what I mean.'

'Indeed I do, and a good job he did of it.'

He squinted up at her as she rose and tugged his bedding straight. 'You mean you took a look?'

'Well, someone had to undress you for the doctor to examine. It's nothing I haven't seen many times before...though yours look rather more painful than most. I'm sure you'll be right in a day or two, though.'

He felt the colour burning in his cheeks and was glad for the poor lighting. He never got used to the idea of people undressing him while he was unconscious, though it had happened so often in the Atlantis infirmary and various other places that he figured he really ought to be over the embarrassment by now.

'And now you've had this warning, how do you plan to tackle Magistra Tranaedan from now on?' Raelzine asked, gently straightening out his blankets where she'd been sitting.

'Trust me, I'm not going anywhere near that woman without her husband's say so. She can take it up with him if she doesn't like it.'

'That'll be a first!' she snorted, planting her hands on her hips. 'Those two barely have a kind word for one another. The only time they're even remotely civil is when they're together in front of guests.'

'Marital problems, huh?' he asked.

'I think it's beyond a problem. The magistra hates him...and he does tend to stifle her.'

Sheppard remembered the magistra had told him he had no idea what life was like for her, and supposed he could have been more sympathetic. But why should he be? She wasn't exactly Miss Congeniality herself.

'Now you're awake I'll get you some food. No refusals this time. You need to get your strength up to help your recovery,' Raelzine chided, though she did it with her customary mix of warmth and brusqueness that he had come to quite enjoy now.

'No refusals, I promise.' He was ravenously hungry now. If someone didn't bring him food soon he would have to chew his own arm off.

Just as she was about to leave, he thought of something he wanted to ask her. 'Raelzine, who's the sensory?'

She jerked to a stop and spun round. 'Where have you heard that name?'

'I'm not sure...just...around. I got the impression he works here and I was wondering why I've never met him.'

'The same reason none of the rest of us have met him...he speaks only with Magister Tranaedan.'

'Right...and what does he do?'

Raelzine edged closer to the bed again and lowered her voice. 'I can't be sure, but the rumour is that he's one of those red skinned people who live out in the Forbidden Zones. They know things...things normal people have no rights to know.'

He frowned, a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. 'What kind of things?'

'The future, so I hear.'

He knew he looked uncertain, but he couldn't help it. Seeing the future...Rodney would have a field day with this. 'Okay...'

'Anyway...you'll never meet him because Tranaedan keeps him locked up somewhere and not one of us knows how to get to him. The magister keeps so many rooms in this house locked he could be behind any one of them. None of us would dare to seek him out, but I have once heard Magistra Tranaedan criticise her husband's reliance on him when most people would not have one in their home.'

'So he's a prisoner here, like the rest of us?'

'Worse. If he's really in this house, he must be kept in just one room. None of the rest of us has ever caught even the slightest glimpse of him.'

'Okay...thanks,' he said, smiling as if nothing were on his mind.

'I'll be back soon. Try not to get yourself into any more trouble while I'm away,' Raelzine warned him, with a twinkle in her eyes that told him she only said it out of concern.

'I'll do my best,' he promised, watching her go this time.

So now he at last knew who this sensory was, Sheppard was left with another question – why did he apparently need to speak to him?

oooOOOooo

For one of the very few times in his life, Rodney had absolutely no appetite. He'd been up half the night sorting through Bathraen's laboratory equipment and computers and figuring out if he could gather enough components together to build a transmitter. Much as these people were advanced, they had no concept of quantum non-locality, and he couldn't find a thing with which he could construct a transmitter capable of opening up a subspace channel through which to send out a message to Atlantis that the government couldn't trace, despite the fact it was the most secure way of doing it. And since Bathraen didn't possess anything that seemed capable of picking up or transmitting radio messages over any distance worth mentioning, that meant he had to build a radio out of what components he could rustle up here or he had to get out of the city to the jumper to salvage what he could from their communications system. Since the second seemed the easier option, working with technology he was familiar with, he'd spent the past few hours trying to think of some way of getting the appropriate permissions to leave the city, but they all depended on Bathraen's assistance, and right now, he wasn't sure he trusted the man to give him the help he needed.

He sat now at the dining table opposite the physician, who read from a great tome lying on the tabletop beside his plate as he ate breakfast. Unlike Rodney, Bathraen clearly suffered no loss of appetite at all, and shovelled in his food relentlessly, one forkful after another as soon as his mouth was empty enough to accommodate it.

Knowing he needed the calories before he went hypoglycaemic, Rodney forced in a few mouthfuls of a toasted bread cake and watched his companion, wondering if the man had spent any time contemplating his dilemma at all. He'd promised they would come up with something, but he hadn't even mentioned the topic since getting up this morning. Now, McKay understood that his contacting Atlantis wouldn't be as urgent to Bathraen as it felt to him, but surely he understood his need to figure this problem out?

Deciding more information on the planet itself and its problems might help him figure a way around this predicament, he decided he had to interrupt Bathraen's peaceful breakfast time reading.

'Much as I hate to disturb your relaxation, any chance we could apply our intellect to something other than the latest Haraendon best seller?'

Bathraen peered up at him, looking mildly confused until he realised Rodney was referring to his book. 'Oh...I see...actually, I'm researching the effects of long term ferrous ingestion on the human immune system –'

'Well, fascinating as all that is, it's not going to solve my current situation, so could we please focus on that for a moment?'

Looking surprised by Rodney's sharpness, Bathraen marked his page and closed the book, setting down his fork. 'Of course, Dr McKay. I wasn't deliberately ignoring your issues...'

'Good, then you won't mind answering a few questions for me. How long have you been trying to solve this sterility problem on your planet?'

Bathraen frowned. 'Well, since we first realised it had happened, of course.'

'And yet, with all your medics involved, not one of you has come up with a solution?'

'As yet, no. But we are hopeful...'

'What makes you think your government will throw me into some kind of breeding programme rather than listen to me when I say we can help with the problem?'

Looking uncomfortable, Bathraen picked up a napkin set beside his plate and dabbed at his mouth. 'As I told you, we are talking about desperate people.'

'So they'd rather use one fertile man for breeding than take a chance on the fact they might be able to solve the problem for everyone? That doesn't make sense. Surely they'd at least check my story out?'

Scratching at his right earlobe, Bathraen nodded. 'I know it sounds insane, but desperate people sometimes do irrational things.'

_Body language! _Rodney thought, watching him. I've heard about this stuff. Now what does that mean? _Crap, why don't I pay more attention to Heightmeyer when she's talking instead of talking over her all the time?_

Then he remembered...lying. Bathraen was lying to him. But why?

'You know, you keep saying that word 'desperate'. Well, I'm desperate, too...desperate to help my friends...and I'm not sure I'm willing to take your word for what will happen if I try any more.'

'I understand that, Dr McKay. I really do, but –'

'No,' Rodney snapped. 'No I really don't think you do! My friends are in trouble, and I may be the only one in a position to get help to them quickly. Do you have any idea the kind of pressure that puts me under?'

Bathraen, clearly stunned by his sudden change from calm to volcanic, simply blinked at him, his face flushing with colour. 'Yes...some...'

'What? You can't have! It's not like anyone you care about it being put through this.'

'No...perhaps you're right.' Bathraen lowered his eyes to avoid further confrontation on that point.

'I want to send a message to my people,' Rodney continued, holding up a silencing finger when Bathraen appeared to be about to protest again. 'I know you think it's a bad idea, you've already told me that, but I need to do this. Will you hear me out?'

With a sigh, Bathraen nodded. 'Go on.'

'Since you don't have anything resembling a radio here, I think the quickest solution it to try to salvage some components from our ship that crashed out near where Teyla is. I've been thinking...I know you say we need paperwork and permissions, but maybe if you offered those facilitators the right kind of incentive...'

The physician's eyes widened at the suggestion. 'You mean a bribe?'

'Well, duh! Of course I mean a bribe. You have money, right?'

'Well, I did before I bought you.'

Rodney felt his shoulders literally sag under the weight of that news. 'What? But you must have some money left.'

'Enough to feed us for a while until my next job comes in, yes, but as for bribing government workers, I doubt it.'

No longer able to contain his bubbling anger, McKay slapped his plate off the table. 'Well, that's just great! Just my luck to get kidnapped by the one person on Haraendon who doesn't have the means or the backbone to help me!'

Bathraen blinked back at him, apparently startled by his outburst. 'I think perhaps you need something to settle your anxiety, Dr McKay. Perhaps I can give you something –'

McKay was up out of his seat in a blur, backing up to the wall. 'I swear, if you try to drug me I'll...I'll...'

'There's no need to threaten me,' Bathraen told him calmly, holding up his empty hands to placate him. 'If you don't wish me to medicate you, I promise I won't.'

Rodney fought to calm his thundering heart, knowing he had to keep his head. Bathraen was his only ally in this world - wrong-siding him would be a ridiculous thing to do. He pushed away from the wall, edging a little closer to the man. 'I'm sorry. I over-reacted. But I am desperate, and whenever I come up with a plan, you seem to be doing everything you can to put obstacles in my way.'

The physician let out a huge sigh, dropping his head back against his seat, his eyes closed. 'Don't apologise, Dr McKay. You're right.'

For a moment, Bathraen's comment simply wouldn't compute. Rodney stared at him, letting the words sink in. 'I...I'm right.'

Bathraen nodded, looking at him again. 'Yes. Your approach to the government might be successful...your people certainly appear advanced enough to offer medical help to our population...but I cannot allow you to do that.'

And now his brain was spinning again. 'I don't get it,' he squeaked. 'Your population has presumably been in decline for the past seven years. Why wouldn't you want our help? I doubt we can make things any worse.'

'My fear is that you might actually make things better.' The doctor stared at him now, his eyes glistening a little, but his expression determined.

The penny finally dropped. How could he have been so dumb? 'You caused the sickness,' Rodney breathed, his heart speeding up again.

Bathraen nodded slowly, but said nothing.

Rodney didn't get the whole genocidal maniac vibe from the guy, even now that he'd revealed his awful secret. He seemed so...so normal. 'Why would you do that?' he asked, pulling out a seat further up the table than he had originally been sitting and dropping down into it.

Taking a deep breath, Bathraen looked away, out of the window at the people passing by in the busy street outside. 'Because someone has to stop them.'

_Vague much! _Rodney thought, watching those same people. Then, he saw some well-dressed, overfed woman striding out with a small, poorly dressed child padding along behind her carrying a huge pile of smartly packaged items. The one on top slipped off, and the woman stopped, apparently yelling and then beating the child until she dropped the rest of the parcels, for which she earned yet more beatings. Now he understood what he meant. Bathraen was against slavery. This was his solution.

'There has to be another way,' Rodney suggested, but Bathraen just sadly shook his head.

'I tried, Dr McKay. I spoke to the government, talked to them about what I had learned of other civilisations in my travels where people lived in harmony and were paid for their efforts. I knew it would take time, but all I wanted was a promise that they would consider it, and perhaps for them to make a move by giving the slaves of Centum Civis some basic rights and protections.'

'And?'

'I was laughed out of the government offices.' Bathraen sighed again, rubbing a shaking hand over his mouth. Clearly, this confession wasn't coming easily to him. 'It would take a major redistribution of wealth on our planet to allow people to move out of slavery. No one is willing to give up anything, it seems. They labelled me a subversive and removed my rights to ever communicate with or travel to anyone outside of Traginta Duo again. Perhaps they feared I would find other people who felt the same, and in doing so, my argument would grow in strength. I was left with nothing but my computers, which connect solely to the central medical database and can store my patients' medical records, and a personal communication with a range that covers this city and no further, the very least I need to carry out my job. And they monitor me, carry out spot checks on my home without notice...I cannot sneeze without them recording it.'

'So sterilisation was the only other answer you could come up with?' Rodney asked, astonished.

Bathraen slid his gaze Rodney's way, giving him a wry smile. 'You have only been on this planet a few days, Dr McKay. You still remember what it is like to deal with rational people, people like you and your friends, people willing to listen to your concerns and take on board your fears, I imagine. I have lived here all my life...and that is many, many years. There is no hope of change. And if I could not change things, the kindest thing was to bring it to an end.'

'What did you do?'

'It was a combination of chemicals I learned of in trade with other planets, a careful balance that would affect both male and female reproduction systems. It took a couple of years to perfect and then all I had to do was distribute it. I released it into the water supply, where it became untraceable after only a few days, and as a result, our population's reproduction ground to a halt. They're in a form of stasis, everything is rendered dormant. And because there is nothing visibly wrong, there is nothing to treat. None of our medicines can counteract it.'

'What about on that planet you got it from?'

'Perhaps...a treatment might naturally occur in the same environment, I suppose. Unfortunately, I asked Ashnael to trade for the ingredients and he worked out what I had done from information he picked up in his dealings with other physicians trying to find a cure. He has been holding it over me ever since. That is why I was forced to help him capture you and your friends.'

'Why hasn't he told the government?'

'Because there is no monetary benefit in telling them, and he cares about nothing but money...not even the future of our population. In some ways, I suppose I'm fortunate I chose him and not another trader, but it means I have no choice but to help him now when he calls on me.'

Rodney wasn't interested in hearing his excuses right now. He wanted more information. 'You said some people weren't affected...'

'No...no...there was something I didn't factor into my formula. The afflicted on our planet...you've heard me mention them before. They are...different to us. They have been over exposed to the highly magnetised iron ore that is rich in certain areas of our planet. They have higher levels of ferric oxide in their bodies because it taints the soil they live on and the water they drink. Somehow, those levels made them immune to the sterilisation effect of the chemical, I know because from time to time youngsters are spotted in the city. They sneak in via the food trucks to see what life is like for those better off than them. And it seems there were more people living in the city who were related to the afflicted than I had ever imagined. I ran blood tests and those who also carried higher levels of ferric oxide than the average human also proved immune to the effects.'

'Hasn't anyone realised that's the connecting thing between the fertile few?'

'Not as yet. The afflicted are feared among my people. They look different to us, their skin, eyes, hair – they all carry the red tinting of their exposure to the ferric oxide. And there are psychological effects, too. They see things no one else can see, and can communicate their thoughts to those they choose to communicate with. That is why they are shunned. But those unaffected by sterility in the city show no outward sign of their heritage. For all anyone here knows, the bout of illness that caused the infertility might have been confined to the cities and not their townships because our two people's so rarely mingle. So no one knows the connection because their fear makes them overlook the possibilities. You know, I once took an afflicted child into my charge when I was younger. She was a sweet child, so very different from the spoiled prodigy of the city people. So very special.'

That didn't surprise Rodney. Bathraen clearly had more compassion in him that the rest of his society, despite what he'd done. 'What happened to her?'

He shook his head sadly, a single tear rolling down her cheek. 'I raised her for years, telling anyone who asked she was a child of a distant cousin who had died prematurely. I helped her disguise herself to look more like us. I fed her, nursed her, but I couldn't give her what she wanted. At night, she would sneak out of my house and into the homes of others through the food distribution inlets and ventilation shafts and watch them enjoying their wealth. I couldn't save her.'

'You mean, they killed her?'

'In a way, yes,' Bathraen sighed, scrubbing at his cheek and rising to cross to the window. 'She was seduced by their lifestyle, by their wealth and power. She decided she wanted that for herself. She became one of them, and all that was once good in her died.'

'She became part of their society?' Rodney asked, wondering why Bathraen seemed so pained by that thought.

'Yes, but worse than that, she became one of the most ruthless of magistras out there. She and her husband...they take cruelty to new levels.'

'It isn't your fault,' Rodney told him, trying to console him.

'Yes it is!' he spat, spinning to face him, framed in the light from the window. "I failed her, and I failed the slaves, too. After the sickness, their owners became worse than ever. Frustrated by what they saw as their incompleteness they became angrier, more selfish, more aggressive than ever, taking all their new anxieties out on those too downtrodden to defend themselves. And I brought them to this...'

'So help us change it. We can fix what you did...'

'No,' Bathraen shouted, now visibly shaking. 'No...this is the way it has to be. In the long-term, it will be better for everyone. Do what you want to get your location to your people if you must, but you cannot do it from this house because any transmission leaving here will attract attention that I can well do without. Use my computers, my communicator if you must, since I'm sure a genius such as you could easily figure a way of transmitting a signal across this planet, and take it out into the city to see what help it brings you, but if you do so, you are on your own. I cannot be seen to be party to your actions. And if you persist in thinking that offering my government assistance with this problem is your bargaining chip to freedom, I will be forced to withdraw my help entirely.'

'What help? You haven't helped at all!' McKay snorted.

Bathraen looked hurt, but fought back with strong words of his own. 'You are living well here, Dr McKay. I clothe you, I feed you, I treat you with respect. That is more help than you would have received from any other owner in Traginta Duo. I can do no more without risking my own liberty...possibly my life. You cannot ask more of me than I have given.'

_Owner?_ Rodney remained sitting there, rendered speechless by Bathraen's use of that word. He'd begun to see him as a possession. Someone who should accept his word and do as he was told. So how long would it be before he starting thinking punishment was the way forward when he was being difficult? The man wasn't insane, he was intelligent and completely lucid, and as far as he was concerned he was doing the exact right thing. And after only a handful of days on the planet, who was he to tell him he was wrong?

'If you'll excuse me,' Rodney said, getting out of his chair now and backing off toward the door, 'I think I just lost my appetite. I'm going back to my room.'

McKay got out of there as fast as his legs would move, his head spinning with unanswered questions. If Bathraen, the only person on his side in this world, wasn't willing to help him for fear of discovery, who the hell could he trust? And did he really have the guts to see his plan through with no back-up?


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N: Thanks to all those of you still hanging on in there with my waffling. I hope you can all stick with it to the end! :)**

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**Chapter 21 **

'Any luck, Radek?' Elizabeth asked, rubbing her tired, dry eyes. She'd been battling sleep for hours now, drifting off in quick snatches when she allowed her mind to lose focus, and she really needed some good news to keep her going.

'_I think we're almost there,_' his voice responded through her earpiece. '_Calculating the power needed to disrupt their shields is very complicated as it's a completely alien system to us, but I think I have it worked out_. _I'm just finishing up connecting the naquadah generator to give the pulse the boost it will need_.'

'That's good to hear. Nice work,' she told him, glancing over at Lorne, who dozed beside her. At the rear of the ship, his two men stood watch, while a couple of Harding's team stayed with Radek as he completed his work.

She let Lorne catch a few more minutes while they waited. There was no sign of any trouble brewing and the sleep would do him good. Since he was their pilot, he hadn't had the opportunities the others had had to catch forty winks. Now it was his turn to rest.

She quietly stood and stretched out her limbs, then wandered down to the back of the jumper, greeting Lorne's men as she passed them and headed out toward Radek.

The little scientist was beavering away, seeming to run on the same nervous energy that Rodney was also fuelled by, though channelled far more effectively than Rodney's could be at times. Radek rarely vented his spleen, and when he did, it was always in his native tongue so it didn't cause offence to anyone overhearing him. Both men were undoubtedly brilliant, but so very different in character it amazed her they managed to work together so well.

She didn't speak to him as she joined his group because he didn't acknowledge her. It was clear he knew she was there, but preferred instead to concentrate on the job at hand. She had no problem with that. That was why she'd brought him along, after all.

It was almost dark now, and colder than ever, but Radek had worked doggedly despite the conditions, the marines with him now holding torches to illuminate his work.

'That's it. I think we're good to go,' he suddenly announced, sitting back on his heels.

'Well...great,' she grinned, 'Let's do it.'

'We can, once all the jumpers and equipment we don't want to lose is moved out of range. We can't completely shut the ships down since we need to keep them cloaked, so we need to keep that away while I operate this.' He glanced at his watch, the one synchronised with Atlantis time. 'I'll set the pulse off at 2215 hours precisely. That should give you plenty of time to get out of range. Although our radios should be unaffected, it might be wise to shut down everything just for the length of the burst. If you allow thirty seconds to pass before switching them on again, I'll contact you to let you know it's done.'

'All right, Radek. Good luck.'

She ran back to the jumper now, relaying the message to all their gathered troops. By the time she got back on board her own craft, Lorne was awake and prepping them for flight.

'Let's get this ship to a safe distance, she ordered as the rear hatch drew shut behind her and Lorne's men.

'Yes, Ma'am.'

Lorne and the others all took their crafts back several miles, a matter of moments in terms of jumper flight, but well outside the range of the large EM pulse Radek was about to unleash. They remained hovering, mindful of the warnings about the indigenous creatures rumoured to dwell in these lands between the cities. They couldn't be sure Thalaezin was telling the truth about them after so many other things he'd said had proved untrustworthy, but this really wasn't the time to test this particular fact out.

2215 hours came and passed, and for a few seconds there was complete silence. Elizabeth was just about to suggest they contact the scientist when Radek's voice broke through. 'It worked. The shield is down. But we should hurry; we have no idea how long it will take them to fix it. They may even have a back-up system they can set in motion...or a quick reset.'

Lorne didn't even wait for her order, setting the ship in motion and telling the others to do the same. Only Harding's craft paused long enough to let Radek and his two marine guards jump back on board, and then they were all inside the city perimeter, cloaked and completely undetected.

They set a course directly for the central government building, landing in the quiet street outside it where traffic needed a permit to drive. The look on the faces of the guards outside it when Elizabeth Lorne and his two remaining team members stepped out of the cloaked ship and strode up to them was classic shock, pure and simple, and she half-wished she'd brought her camera to capture the moment.

'We want to speak to First Minister Thalaezin immediately,' she told them, striding up the steps.

They barred her way despite their trepidation. 'I...I'm sorry, but you can't enter the building without the proper permissions,' the larger of the two men told her.

'Is that so?' she asked, standing firm on that top step and folding her arms across her chest. 'Well, I'm Dr Elizabeth Weir, the commander of a very advanced and very, very angry race of people. I think you'll find that's all the permission I need.'

She tried to pass them again, but they still blocked her way. 'I'm sorry, Dr Weir, but we're still not allowed to let you pass without First Minister Thalaezin giving us permission.'

She glanced back at Lorne and his men, seeing their equal determination to gain another audience with their deceitful host. The time for politeness was over. Now it was time to play dirty.

'Well, I suggest you ask First Minister Thalaezin for that permission right now. And while you're there, tell him if he doesn't grant me that permission, I'll make sure neither he nor anyone else on this planet trades with another race in this galaxy again.'

The both blinked back at her, as if wondering if she was serious.

'I'll wait right here while you do that, shall I?' she asked, jabbing a finger toward the floor, then folding her arms again.

After a second or two more of disbelief, one of the men turned and headed inside, presumably to do her bidding.

The other remained before her, looking anxious. She smiled at him. 'Lovely evening, isn't it?'

'Uh, yes...lovely,' he replied, then he focused on something in the distance and pretended to guard things so he didn't have to converse with her any more.

Trying not to laugh, she tripped down the couple of steps to Lorne's level. 'Now I guess we just have to wait and see just how much that threat resonates,' she said quietly, looking back toward the door.

'Oh I think it'll resonate, Ma'am,' Lorne smirked, resting his arms casually on the butt of his P-90. 'This is a government. Anything that might hit them in the pocket resonates.'

She nodded, appreciating his joke. Hopefully, it was close enough to the truth to get them through those doors and back in the presence of Thalaezin himself.

oooOOOooo

Ashnael watched Ronon's face as Rabbrine stitched up the popped sutures in his side. He grimaced, but this was a man clearly used to dealing with physical pain, which made him all the more exciting as far as he was concerned.

From time to time, the man shook the whole bed frame, trying to free his trapped wrists, but the magnetised cuffs held firm. The giant brute was going nowhere.

'This is the second badly injured slave I've had to tend to today,' Rabbrine commented as he trimmed the last stitch and slipped of his optical enhancers. 'Not that I'm complaining since it pays my bills. And Magistra Tranaedan always settles her bills on time.'

Since Ronon had no idea who Sheppard had been sold to, that nugget of information meant nothing to him, but it piqued Ashnael's interest.

'Magistra Tranaedan, you say?'

'Yes. They have a new slave there, beastly man, doesn't have the first clue how to behave in polite society. The Magistra told me he'd fallen, but I have to question that.'

Ashnael cocked his head. He hadn't used Rabbrine's services much because Bathraen always came for free, but he'd decided he couldn't face one of the old man's lectures today, and he was glad since this physician was apparently in a chatty mood. 'Was he badly injured?'

'Mostly superficial cuts and bruising and a concussion, but, well, let's put it this way...if he weren't sterile already he wouldn't be fathering any children for the next few days or weeks.'

Ashnael winced, knowing exactly what that meant. 'And they say he fell?'

'Yes, but considering the fact he had several other injuries conducive to a beating, I rather think he was pushed. I imagine it was Magister Tranaedan living up to his reputation.'

'And most likely because Magistra Tranaedan was living up to hers,' Ashnael quipped.

'Do I have to listen to this crap?' Ronon demanded from where he still lay cuffed to the bed.

Ashnael snorted out a laugh and guided Curan Rabbrine from the room. 'Not at all, Romaed. We'll take our conversation elsewhere. You stay there and relax.'

He heard the man's growl and his continued efforts to free himself as he walked away down the corridor with Rabbrine.

'So, the new pilot isn't settling in too well, I take it?' he asked the doctor as they reached the elevator and began to journey up.

'You know he's a pilot? I take it you sold the man to her then,' Rabbrine surmised, watching him sharply.

'I did. It was most fortunate to find him so soon after the loss of her last pilot. Slaves with that particular talent are hard to come by.'

'Yes. It was fortuitous timing for her...but I don't envy him. That is one household I would certainly have no desire to be part of. Rumour is the Magister is deathly jealous of that wife of his. And who can blame him. I have made her look like utter perfection.'

Ashnael shrugged as the elevator slid to a halt and the door opened to release them. 'I wouldn't know. She's not exactly my taste.'

'No...no, of course not,' the doctor replied, clearing his throat and putting a little more space between them. 'But surely even you can appreciate beauty?'

Ashnael smirked. Yes, he could, but cosmetically enhanced women weren't a patch on the man down in his recovery room. 'I can, but I see beauty in different things...in courage, strength and spirit.'

'Then you should have kept that pilot for yourself. He had an excess of all of those.'

Ashnael thought back to the struggle Sheppard had put up when he'd attacked him in his treatment room. He had indeed been very impressive. 'Well, if I hadn't found the man you just stitched up, I might have done just that,' he confessed. 'But I'm happy with my choice.'

At the door Dezrin met the doctor with his coat. The man set down his bag and pulled it on. 'Where did you find this latest batch of slaves, Mercator Ashnael? They have a most peculiar way of speaking, don't you think?'

'They come from a city in the east. I don't venture there much, but when I heard a household had been raided and the owners killed, I suspected there would be trade to be had. I got them at a good price. I suppose we just have to put up with the various quirks other cities' slaves have picked up in our years in virtual isolation.'

'Yes...quite.' Rabbrine buckled up his coat and picked up his bag again, heading for the now open door. 'Well, I think I shall head home now. I've been out on call all day and have had barely a moment's rest.'

'Very good, Curan Rabbrine. I'll expect your bill in short order.'

The doctor nodded and headed off down the steps, but Ashnael couldn't help but ponder the oddly suspicious look he'd given him when he'd told him where Sheppard and Ronon was from. Hopefully, the doctor would be too busy to give his concerns any more thought, and the matter would soon be forgotten. Maybe he should have called Curan Bathraen after all for another free session, but he hadn't wanted to put up with one of the man's tedious lectures about giving Ronon more time to recover before sparring with him again.

He wandered back inside and Dezrin closed the door behind him, bowing low at his side. He supposed he could spar with the young slave instead, but fighting Ronon had been exhilarating in a way it never had been with Dezrin. No, he would leave it for now and give Ronon the rest of the day to recover. Then he'd make sure he didn't push him too hard next time. He'd been lucky enough only to pop a few stitches in the inner and outer layers of his epidermis this time, his deeper wounds remaining intact. That meant he would be another day more healed internally by the next time they sparred, and another day stronger.

He rode the elevator down to where he'd left his new plaything, leaning in the doorway to admire him. For a moment, Ronon didn't even know he was there, his head turned away as his chest heaved with his angry breaths. Allowing himself just a little longer to enjoy the view, Ashnael walked in clearing his throat. 'Now, Ronon. You really must be sure not to burst those stitches again the next time we fight,' he warned, heading over to the medicine cabinet he kept locked in the corner.

'The only thing I'm sure to do next time we fight is kill you,' the Satedan rumbled, baring his teeth like a wild dog.

Ashnael laughed, pulling a syringe from the shelf and filling it with sedative. 'We shall see,' he chuckled, crossing to the trapped man's bedside.

Ronon strained against his cuffs but couldn't move away from him. Ashnael jabbed the needle hard into his left deltoid, setting the sedative loose in his body. As it began to take hold and the big man fought to keep his eyes open, Ashnael stroked his hand down his arm, enjoying the sensation of his taut muscles under his touch. 'You get some sleep now, Ronon. We wouldn't want you or anyone else hurt while we move you back to your quarters.'

Ronon gave one last growl before passing out, then fell limp on the bed. Ashnael revelled in a thrill of victory at taming the ferocious man. Then, activating the anti-gravitational bed beneath him, he easily steered his sleeping slave from the treatment room to the elevator, on his way back to his sparring room cell.

oooOOOooo

Magister Tranaedan paced beside his craft, checking his timepiece. What was keeping the girl? He'd sent her for the pilot a while ago, and while he realised Jadrael would need time to dress and limp his way down to the transport store, this was now unacceptably tardy. Had his lesson last night taught him nothing?

A moment later, Lanae appeared, gasping for breath and teary eyed. 'I'm sorry, Magister, but I couldn't rouse Jadrael. He's deeply asleep and neither I nor Raelzine can wake him.'

That didn't sound good. His wife had called Curan Rabbrine to tend to the man during the early hours of the morning, and he'd assured her he would make a full recovery then. The sensory's warning echoed through his head. He couldn't let the pilot die. If he did, his own life would be forfeit.

'Out of my way,' he ordered, brushing the girl aside and heading for the elevator. He rose to the servants' accommodation floor, and burst into the pilot's room, finding Raelzine wrestling with a feverish looking Jadrael.

'Come now, lad. Stop thrashing and let me treat you,' she told him, trying to hold his flailing arms out of the way so she could dampen down his hot forehead.

Tranaedan pushed forward and caught his arms, forcing them down to the bed and making him cry out. 'Here let me help you with that.'

'I think you've already done enough,' the old woman said sharply. There was real anger in her eyes when she looked at him, as well as a hint of fear for what she had just said.

Of course, she was right. He'd taken things too far with Jadrael. The man had tried to distance himself from the magistra last night, he'd heard enough through the wall of the adjoining room to know that, and yet he'd let his anger at his wife's attempted infidelity get the better of him. He'd beaten him mercilessly...beaten him senseless. His reaction had been out of proportion and unjustified, he knew that now looking at how sick the man was, but he also knew he would do the same thing again if driven to it. His wife had always had that maddening effect on him.

'How long has he been like this?'

Raelzine didn't look at him as she answered, busying herself with wiping down Jadrael's sweat streaked skin. 'I can't be certain. When I brought him his lunch his temperature seemed normal enough, though he was sleepy. It was only when you called for his services just now that we found him this way.'

'I thought the physician said he was fine.'

Raelzine just tutted and shook her head. 'Rabbrine! That old charlatan. He doesn't care a jot for slaves. He'd have said he was fine even if he wasn't. And he'd have withheld medicine, too. The man's not worth the money the magistra pays him.'

'She does seem to favour the man rather highly. Let's take a look at him.'

He pulled Jadrael's coarse blanket down, seeing the inflamed welts left by his belt across his stomach and chest. He was no medical expert, but their angry appearance and his raging temperature told him Jadrael had an infection that needed urgent treatment.

The man squirmed under the force of his grip, groaning in his stupor. 'I don't know where he is...I don't know how to find him.'

'Shhhh, now Jadrael. Calm yourself,' Raelzine soothed, mopping his head again.

'What does he want from me?' he groaned. 'I...I don't know where he is!'

'Who is he talking about?' Tranaedan asked, trying to hold him still again for Raelzine to wipe down.

'Who knows,' she snapped, dipping her cloth into a bowl of cold water to refresh it. She glared at him as she wrung it out then lay it across his forehead. 'He's sick...raving...nothing he says makes any sense.'

'Teyla! She's in danger! I have to find her!'

Tranaedan pulled the control for his cuffs from his pocket, knowing restraining his hands to the metal bed frame would help Raelzine to treat him with her basic medicines.

Again, the old woman gave him an icy glare, but he knew what he was doing. 'It is for his own good woman, he must lie still.'

Jadrael, though, fought back before he could do it. Freeing up his right hand, he caught hold of the front of Tranaedan's coat, dragging him down toward him. 'You cannot kill the pilot...If his blood is on your hands...you will surely...die,' he panted, his fingers locking tight on the fabric.

With great effort, Tranaedan forced the man's grip loose and staggered back, while Jadrael collapsed against his pillows, spent. He knew who those words had come from. The sensory had somehow learned of what he'd done and was warning him...saving him from himself.

He stood up straight, raising his chin proudly and tugging his clothes into place. 'Take care of him, Raelzine. I will call for Curan Bathraen; he'll know what to do.'

He hurried out then, stopping just down the corridor to give his racing heart a chance to recover. He had taken it too far with the pilot, beaten him and then left him untended until he was found. Yes, he'd ascertained that he was still breathing, but that was all. The man could have died and then his life would have been forfeit, too. He would have to be more careful, ensuring Jadrael knew he meant business, but without risking his life again.

But for now, the man needed his help, and he would get it. Hopefully, it wasn't too little, too late.

oooOOOooo

'Look at the state of him! We can't leave him here. Can't you come up with some excuse to remove him from the house?'

The voice was so familiar, the whining pitch of the words making him feel at home for the first time in days. But it couldn't be, could it?

'I can't do that, Dr McKay. The Tranaedans have everything here needed to take care of him. I can make no excuse that would hold water.'

'Oh, come on! You're just not trying here.'

Sheppard forced his eyes open, blinking away beads of sweat from his lashes as he brought his dim and dismal room into focus. He was still sick, his body aching with fever and infection. This was just another crazy hallucination, more wishful thinking, another image of friends that would slip from his grasp.

'Dr McKay, please understand. If I behave in any way that appears unusual, I could draw attention to you and your friend here...attention you do not want. And you must be quiet...if Magister Tranaedan suspects that you and Colonel Sheppard here are not from this planet...well, he has a lot of money to make sure the two of you disappear and will never be seen again.'

'Well, how very melodramatic of you!'

'It is not a lie, Dr McKay. You must calm down!'

'Rodney?' Sheppard croaked, lifting his head as far from the pillows as he could.

'Oh, thank God!' The scientist was at his bedside in an instant, squatting down beside him. 'How're you feeling?'

'Oh, just peachy,' he lied, trying to bring the incredibly blurry figure of McKay into sharper focus. 'You really here or are you just another screwy game my head's playing with me?'

'No...I'm real. We've given you something to bring your temperature down for now so we can talk to you.'

'That's good,' Sheppard groaned as he tried to sit up, Rodney helping to prop him up with pillows. 'So, how're you?'

'Oh, you know...trying to find a way to save us all as usual.'

'Any progress on that?'

'Er...not so much,' the scientist replied, standing up and bouncing on the balls of his feet as he did when agitated. '...but I'm working on it.'

'We both are, Colonel Sheppard. We'll find a way to get you and your team back to your people.'

The sight of Bathraen approaching the bed set Sheppard ranting. 'What the hell are you doing here? Come to knock me out and sell me on to some other crazy household?'

'It's okay, Sheppard. He's on our side...in a manner of speaking,' Rodney told him, giving the man an odd look.

'No offence, but I have trouble trusting people who sell me into slavery.'

'That wasn't him, that was Ashnael,' Rodney intervened.

'With his help,' Sheppard growled, then hissed as even that level of aggravation made his whole body pulse uncomfortably.

'Yeah, well...things are complicated. But he's on our side, you can trust me on that.'

Sheppard dropped his head back on the pillow, clutching his aching forehead. 'Just tell me you're gonna get me out of this madhouse.' The pause that comment met with meant he wasn't going to like the answer. 'Rodney?'

'Er...actually, that isn't going to be all that simple. Curan Bathraen and I are working on a way of communicating our position to Atlantis instead. If I can build a radio from what limited equipment he has at his home I can send a message to any of our people on the planet...but he's not allowed to send out messages beyond the city's communication network so I can't do it from his home. And even if I do it from somewhere else in the city, they're so hot on monitoring anomalous transmissions, they're likely to hunt me down and capture me...and apparently that would be bad.'

'So, you haven't figured out a way past the gates, huh?'

'What makes you say that?'

'Because if you had, you'd be out there salvaging what you could of the jumper's communication systems.'

Rodney looked as despondent as Sheppard had ever seen him. 'You need codes, for the city gates and the Stargate, but Bathraen isn't allowed to travel. And I can't get close enough to deactivate the locks on the gates and get out with those facilitators on permanent duty.'

So the magistra had been telling the truth about the Stargate. He hadn't known whether to believe her or not on that little detail. 'Convenient,' Sheppard grunted, wincing as a pain stabbed through him again. He really had to stop tensing up like that.

Bathraen passed him an icepack. 'Here, Colonel Sheppard, this might help.'

Sheppard took it with a mutter of thanks, clutching it against his throbbing skull.

The doctor looked at him a little awkwardly, and said, 'Actually, it isn't for your head, Colonel Sheppard.' He flicked his eyes lower down Sheppard's body, and then the colonel understood what he meant. 'We need to reduce the bruising and keep down any swelling.'

'Oh...right...' When Sheppard slipped it down to its intended target, he had to wonder if the doctor was some kind of torture expert, but after a few minutes things went numb and he understood why it was necessary.

'Here, let me give you this.'

The sight of Bathraen approaching him with a syringe didn't give him a good feeling, though. 'Oh, I don't think so!'

'It's something for your infection, nothing more. I promise you.'

Sheppard held his gaze, searching for signs of deception in his face, but he found none. He was sick, and he felt like crap. Rodney seemed to trust this guy, so he guessed he had to as well.

'All right. Do it.'

Bathraen found an artery, and injected the solution into him. 'I know you are feeling quite unwell at the moment, Colonel. But this will soon have you feeling much better. It's a fast acting medicine; you should notice the benefits in only a few hours.'

'That'd be good,' he quipped. The he rolled his head Rodney's way. 'So how about this plan to contact Atlantis?'

The scientist immediate looked sheepish, eyes darting around the room. 'Yeah, well...we haven't exactly ironed out all the kinks yet, but we'll think of something.'

'You have no idea how to do it, do you?' Sheppard pressed.

'Not yet...no. But you know me...I'll think of something.'

'Yeah...I know you.'

'And what's that supposed to mean?'

'Any news on Teyla and Ronon?' Sheppard asked, changing the subject.

'Yes.'

Sheppard waited for more, but apparently it wasn't forthcoming. 'Yes? And? So? What?'

'Teyla's safe...for now.' Rodney shared an anxious look with Bathraen, one that Sheppard couldn't miss.

'What is it? What aren't you telling me?'

'To avoid government scans, Bathraen had to smuggle her into that walled township we crashed near. Because of the magnetic field that brought out ship down, government scanners won't be able to detect her Wraith DNA.'

Sheppard breathed easy. That didn't sound so bad, yet Rodney still looked worried about something. 'I'm sensing a 'But'.'

Rodney rolled his eyes. 'But she's being constantly exposed to harmful levels of electromagnetism. She should be okay for a while, but if for any reason we were to be trapped here long term...'

'It would be bad.'

Rodney nodded. 'Yes.'

'I'm a little fuzzy here at the moment, so how about you define "bad",' Sheppard urged, 'and before you try and dodge the question, I don't mean the word itself.'

Rodney sighed. 'Well, there isn't conclusive clinical proof of the effects, but research on Earth shows when we expose animals to levels lower than those emitted in the Forbidden Zones, they experience higher instances of adult cancers, leukaemia, depression, neurological disorders, depressed immune systems...should I go on?'

'No...I think I got the picture,' Sheppard replied. 'So it's really important we get her out of there as soon as possible.'

'That's pretty much what I was saying, yes.'

'And what about Ronon?'

Rodney actually winced at that question. 'Well, he's still with Ashnael...'

'Recovering from the op,' Sheppard finished for him.

'We hope so,' Bathraen replied. 'Excuse me.' He moved Sheppard's hands aside so he could examine the sutured injuries across his body.

Rodney grimaced at the sight of them and turned slightly away from him.

'What do you mean, "We hope so?"' Sheppard demanded, flinching as the physician pressed at one of his swollen wounds.

The doctor straightened up and reached into his medical kit for something to treat his lacerations. 'I mean,' he began as he tipped a liquid onto a cloth and dabbed at the oozing injuries, 'Ashnael has a penchant for battling with fit young men like your friend. I rather think he gains a little too much pleasure from such things.'

'What?' Rodney suddenly erupted, turning toward him with eyes bulging like they might just pop clean out of his head. 'You didn't tell me that! I thought he just liked beating the crap out of them!'

'He does. But he gains a very specific type of satisfaction from it,' Bathraen clarified, his gaze briefly flicking up to Sheppard's in an apologetic way.

'Well, for someone who's apparently on our side, you sure did land us in some deep crap!' Sheppard snapped at him.

Again, the man looked sorry and continued with his work.

Taking a deep breath, Sheppard slipped into team leader mode. 'Okay, let's set our priorities. You get Ronon out first –'

'It's not going to be as easy as that –'

'Make it that easy, McKay!' Sheppard said, silencing his friend.

Rodney's shoulders slumped and his head dropped. 'Okay, I'm listening.'

'Good. You get Ronon out first, then he can hopefully help you figure a way into that township to get Teyla out. He could probably take down the facilitators at the gate on his own if you give him the chance. I can handle things here for a while.'

'Yeah, 'cos you've been doing a great job so far –' Rodney squeaked.

At that point, the door opened with a sharp creak and Magistra Tranaedan stepped in. Her eyes quickly swept the room, then finally came to rest on the physician.

'Bathraen,' she said, her voice a pitch lower than normal, and thus more menacing.

'Magistra,' he replied, dipping his head respectfully. 'You're looking well.'

'What are you doing here?' she asked, not even acknowledging his compliment.

'You pilot was very sick. Your husband called me out to see him.'

'I have already had Curan Rabbrine here to attend to him this morning. He will be fine. Now leave.'

Sheppard sensed an age-old animosity between these two, and wondered what their story was. They clearly knew one another, but why this anger?

'Rabbrine didn't do his job properly, Magistra Tranaedan. Jadrael has developed an infection, and it's hardly surprising considering the conditions you're keeping him in. His room and bedding are filthy.'

A condescending smirk twisted her features in the dim lamplight, making her look decidedly evil as she stared the man down. 'What do you expect? He's a slave, and a disobedient one at that. I'm hardly likely to waste my good linen on him.' She looked at Sheppard now, her eyes narrowing callously as she regarded his shaking, perspiration soaked body. 'Perhaps he's feigning symptoms to get out of his duties. He's lazy, this one...never wants to do what he's asked.'

'That depends what you're asking for,' Sheppard fired back, pulling his filthy blanket a little higher to shield himself from her roaming eyes.

'He needs to be moved to a more sterile environment. He may look relatively well now, but that's only because I have artificially suppressed his illness so that I could ask enough questions to gain a full list of his symptoms. When that wears off he will not feel so good.'

'I suppose you want me to send him to our recovery room.'

'That would be perfect,' Bathraen agreed. 'If you wouldn't mind arranging that.'

She looked at him coldly, pouting her prettily painted lips. Then she looked at Rodney. 'And who are you?'

'Me?' he asked, eyes wide. 'Er...I'm with him.' He pointed at Bathraen.

'And what kind of slave is this who doesn't know he should kneel when I enter a room?' she demanded of the physician.

Bathraen wasn't at all thrown by the question, immediately replying,' 'You know my feeling about such things, Magistra. I don't enforce such rules in my household.'

'No? Well I do in my household,' she pulled her telescopic cattle prod from her pocket and extended it, giving it a little twist to set the current flowing.

'Kneel before the Magistra,' Bathraen ordered Rodney.

McKay just gaped at him, slack-jawed. 'What? Are you –'

The magistra jabbed him in the side and his legs buckled, folding him to the floor. Sheppard winced for him, knowing how that felt. He'd wanted to warn him, but it would have looked suspicious if he had.

'Seems you've got yourself a troublesome slave too, Bathraen,' she smirked, stepping over Rodney to approach Sheppard's bedside. 'I hope this isn't some kind of revolution.'

She stroked Sheppard's cheek, looking at him in a way that suggested she knew they were up to something. He held his tongue and just moved his head a little to the side to show he wasn't impressed.

After a pause in which Rodney clambered back to his feet, she said, 'Very well. I'll move Jadrael to the recovery room for now. Is that everything I need to know?'

'He'll need further treatment...one of these pills four times a day for the next five days. Can I trust you to ensure that happens? His health is at stake here.'

She looked down at Sheppard again, and he saw a slight softening in her expression, as if she actually did want him to get better. 'Very well. I'll see to it myself.'

'If it's all the same to you, I'd rather you didn't,' he told her, to the obvious amazement of his current company.

'Are you challenging me, Jadrael?' she asked, her tone now colder again.

Bathraen interceded on his behalf. 'Magistra Tranaedan, it might be better if someone else administered them since your presence obviously makes him anxious. The less aggravation he suffers, the quicker and more complete his recovery will be.'

She didn't look too happy about that, folding her arms over her chest as if about to challenge his suggestion. Then, she unexpectedly agreed. 'Very well. I'll instruct Raelzine to ensure he is medicated. Now, if there's nothing else, I'll put those measures in place. I expect the two of you to be gone by the time we come to move him.'

She swept out without waiting for their response.

'Nice woman,' Rodney panted, clutching his side. 'She reminds me of my mother...apart from the whole electrocution thing.'

'You all right, McKay?' Sheppard asked, trying to sit up and get a better look at him, but finding a sweat breaking out all over him even with that small effort.

'You need to rest now, Colonel Sheppard,' Bathraen ordered, pushing him back down. 'The symptom depressor will wear off soon, and you will feel weak and feverish again. But with any luck, that should only be for a short time before the medicine kicks in and begins to battle that infection.'

'That's good to know,' he replied, closing his eyes as the room began to spin.

'We'll get Ronon and Teyla out,' Rodney promised him from his bedside. 'You just sit tight and try to stay out of trouble, you hear?'

'I hear you, Rodney. Now get your asses the hell out of here before she decides to stick you with that cattle prod again,' Sheppard told him.

'Yeah...yeah, that might be a good idea.'

Sheppard listened to the sound of the two men packing away their equipment, too nauseous and hot to open his eyes and watch. He just wanted to sleep again...although that would only bring him more of those freaky nightmares, he knew.

He suddenly felt a hand come to rest on his forearm, and opened his eyes to see Rodney's worried blue eyes staring down on him. 'Just...don't do anything stupid, huh?'

He knew how awkward the scientist was about personal contact, about as awkward as he was, and guessed the man was pretty worried about him to make such a gesture. 'Hey, c'mon, Rodney. You know me,' he quipped, giving him his best, crooked smile.

'Yeah...that's the problem.'

Bathraen persuaded Rodney to leave with him then, but just as they reached the door, Sheppard called out, 'Rodney...I'm sorry I got us into this...I just...I just had this voice in my head telling me we had to come this way.'

Rodney sighed, then shrugged. 'You were doing what you thought you had to do to keep Ronon alive...and it worked. Now we just have to get us all home before anything _really_ bad happens. Piece of cake!'

Bathraen steered him out then, and Sheppard watched McKay go, that worried look remaining on his face until the door closed behind him.

He lay his head back and let his eyes slide shut again, closing out the world for a while longer. Well, if he was laid up sick in the recovery room for a few days, he might just get some respite from the Tranaedan's marital problems, and with any luck, Rodney would also figure out a way to let Atlantis know where they were.

All he had to do was sit tight, take his medicine, and get some rest at last.

What could go wrong?


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N: Here's another chunk of Life on Haraendon for your delectation. Don't forget to let me know what you think. :)**

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**Chapter 22**

First Minister Thalaezin was clearly furious to be disturbed by them so late in the day, but granted them an audience despite his foul humour.

This time, certain she had his full attention, Weir insisted on a seat for all of them. She and her people were exhausted after a couple of days of snatching sleep where they could, and she wasn't about to make them stand while she and the first minister battled this out.

When they were all comfortable, and refreshments had been served, she'd insisted on that too while the First Minister was in such a receptive mood, she sat herself up straight and addressed him.

'First Minister Thalaezin, I'm not sure what sort of people you're used to dealing with, but I think it's time you understood that neither I nor my people will be lied to any more.'

He glared at her, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the arms of his comfortably upholstered swivel chair. 'I have no idea what you mean, Dr W –'

'Do you honestly expect me to believe that?' she snapped, fixing him with a hard stare. 'You've been blocking our efforts to find our missing personnel at every possible turn. And you've lied to us about where they might be, knowing full well they couldn't leave this planet without your authority. This ridiculous deception stops now. I want some answers, or those threats I made to get you to let us in...well, let's just say they still stand.'

Clearly shocked that she would speak to him that way, his face turned puce with rage. He slammed a meaty fist down on the desktop, setting the refreshments clanking against one another like a discordant xylophone. 'How dare you, Dr Weir. I have been nothing but courteous to you and your men. Now you take down our shield, an act that puts all the city's inhabitants in danger, and bombard me with insults. What is this about?'

That was rich. He was angry with them? 'I agree, you have been very polite to us, First Minister, but only for your own nefarious purposes. You told us lies about the chances of our people being taken off world, you sent us out into the cities where we were almost kidnapped ourselves, and then you blocked our supposedly open permission code to travel throughout the Centum Civis when we tried to report our findings to you. Considering all that, I think you can probably appreciate why I'm now forced to take a harder line. Now we have been very considerate ourselves up to this point, but my patience is wearing thin. I'm sorry about your shield, but you left us no choice. I would ask you not to put me in that position again and tell me instead why it is people on this planet are kidnapping off-worlders.'

For a moment the first minister just continued to ferociously hold her gaze, and she suspected he was about to throw them out. But then she saw a small flicker of doubt, a falter, and his posture loosened just a fraction. She jutted her jaw, just so he was certain of her resolve now. He was weakening; she wasn't about to.

'I am not lying to you when I say we do not know where your people are,' he began, sending her rising hopes sinking. That was not the most auspicious of starts, but what he followed it up with was more promising. 'But there is a possibility that they were taken by someone within the Centum Civis.'

Beside her, she saw Lorne shift in his seat, an angry tension tightening his limbs. 'Why didn't you just tell us that when we first asked?' he growled.

'Because we were...contemplating doing the same to you.'

His honestly actually took her breath away. She glanced over at Lorne, who had now gripped his weapon as if suspecting they might need to fight their way out of there any time now.

'I take it you have a trade set up with some other race?' she asked. 'But people trafficking cannot be condoned for any reason.'

Thalaezin shook his head, taking out a handkerchief and wiping the sweat from his brow. 'We do not do it for trade, Dr Weir. Our reasons are far more dire.'

Now he had her intrigued. She'd seen with her own eyes that the wealthy of the Centum Civis kept slaves. Was that what he meant? Did he think they were running short of service staff and they couldn't function without them? It was hardly an acceptable reason for taking off-worlders captive.

'I don't understand,' she confessed. 'What "dire" reasons could drive you to such unconscionable actions?'

'Our population is dying. We do this to keep it alive.'

Getting information from this man was a painfully slow process, somewhat like the slow drip-dripping of a faulty faucet. 'So your people are sick?' she pressed on.

'In a manner of speaking, yes,' he admitted, shifting awkwardly in his seat. Elizabeth sensed he wasn't comfortable discussing the issue, whatever it was. What could possibly be so bad that kidnapping people seemed a better option that asking for help?

'Well, we have advanced knowledge in medicine, so perhaps we can help...once our people are returned, of course.'

Thalaezin sighed and smiled, shaking his head. 'You are not the first to offer assistance, but I fear the result will be the same.'

'So...what? Your people are dying, so you think you can replace your dwindling population by press-ganging off-worlders to join you? You have to know that won't work. Some time, the other races you've done this to will get wise to your scheme and come calling, just like we have.'

'Yes...you're right. But after years of trying to solve this problem ourselves, we've been forced to resort to desperate measures.' He looked suitably ashamed, but she knew there was something he still wasn't telling her.

'How can kidnapping outsiders help? Are you looking for some kind of antibodies to this sickness?' Zelenka asked, joining in the conversation now.

'No, not antibodies. That approach would be too erratic to solve any sickness...we know enough about medicine to understand that.'

'Then what? What is this sickness that's ravaging your society?' Elizabeth demanded, loosing what little patience she'd been clinging to.

He jumped at the force behind her question, his cheeks colouring up as he sought a way to word his answer. 'We are...sterile.'

That had been just about the last thing Elizabeth had imagined he might say. She'd never been interested in having children herself, choosing to pursue her career rather than start a family. She liked children, but she'd never felt the urge to bring any into the world nor heard the supposed ticking of her biological clock. But she'd seen the obsessive need for children in others, friends and people she'd worked with in the past. A whole race of people deprived of the natural process of parenthood...she supposed that would make them desperate for solutions. But it didn't excuse what they had done...taking outsiders to...to what exactly?

'So, how does taking people from off-world help you find a solution?' she asked, her throat a little drier now. She picked up her glass and sipped her drink to alleviate the aridness her thoughts had caused. She had a sneaking suspicion she knew the answer.

'We induct them into our research programme,' he said, his language crisp and clinical, but his voice cracking just a little as he spoke.

Research programme? Something told her the participants weren't willing parties, merely lab rats.

Thalaezin continued. 'We take samples from healthy males and females, and we impregnate the youngest in the group, those candidates most likely to carry a pregnancy to term under such unusual circumstances –'

'That is a complete violation of their human rights!' she gasped. 'You can't just force people to have children for you!'

'They're slave class. Enforced breeding has always been part of their lives...it's an expectation of their role...'

'That doesn't make it right!'

The first minister was clearly unimpressed to have her dictate to him that way. 'How else would you expect us to produce more slaves?'

Elizabeth knew she couldn't get sidetracked by this planet's social problems just yet. That was a conversation for another time. 'How does using samples from outsiders continue your race? You might as well just buy in people from another planet.'

'Because we always mix their genetics with slaves born on Haraendon. That way, we hope the next generation will be able to breed purer Haraendon stock if we mix them with the current younger indigenous members of our program, and any other stock yet to be discovered.'

'This is completely unacceptable...'

'None of them knows anything of the process. It is all done under clinical supervision and sedation.'

'And you think that makes this tolerable?' she demanded. 'I'll ask you again, First Minister, where are our people?'

He held up his hands as he saw the marines twitch their weapons. 'I swear, Dr Weir, I am telling the truth. The first team you were searching for have not been introduced to our programme. I have no idea where they are. The others are still being processed...I'll return them to you immediately.'

'So if Colonel Sheppard and his team haven't been taken to become part of your breeding programme, where else might they be?' she asked, conceding that he might be telling the truth on that point.

The first minister licked his lips, looking anxious as the anger of his guests increased. 'There's no way of knowing for certain, but there are those in the Centum Civis who might be willing to pay richly for a fully functioning outsider, a breeder they have more choice in. At the moment, if the upper classes want off-spring, they have to take those children we offer them from the programme. But the wealthier members of our society are...excluded from the programme. Only the lower castes are expected to take part in it, therefore, members of the higher castes have never been tested for fertility. Should one of them want a child of their own, not one provided by our programme, purchasing the services of an outsider would be one way to fulfil their requirements.'

Elizabeth's blood ran cold. She narrowed her eyes. 'And I presume their techniques for acquiring children would be less...clinical?'

His face flushed with colour again, and he looked down at his clasped hands. 'I suppose that's possible, yes... and I can only apologise if this turns out to be the case. But in truth, I did not know this was going on.'

Either that, or he simply turned a blind eye for the upper caste again. For one of the first times in her life, Elizabeth felt like grabbing the man and slapping some sense into him. This was horrific. The very definition of a two-tier society. The upper classes benefitted in every way possible from the suffering of those who served them or those off-worlders unfortunate enough to stumble into their clutches. Nothing, it seemed, was considered too cruel or too crass as long as the upper echelon thrived and survived. 'So, if what you say is true, my people could currently be in the hands of these unidentified fertile members of your society.'

'It is possible, I suppose...although there is still the distinct possibility that they didn't make it into one of our cities at all.'

'Let's suppose they did,' she snapped, unwilling to put up with any more diversions. 'I want them back as soon as possible, do I make myself understood?'

'But...but like I said...we have no record of the upper castes who might be interested in outsiders. We didn't make records because...well, quite frankly...we hadn't imagined they would sink this low. But, if they are lucky, they might not be being used for those purposes at all. There are always those looking for more general slaves...'

'Well, let's suppose they have,' Elizabeth growled. 'This is the deal I'm going to table. I will offer you the best medical help we have available to us to work on your population's infertility problem. With our help, I am confident that if a solution can be found, it will be.'

'That's very kind of you, Dr Weir, and much appreciated –' he grovelled.

'But,' she interrupted, holding up a finger to silence him. 'That assistance is only yours once every missing member of my personnel is returned to us. That's nine in total now...and I expect every single one of them to be returned to us before any help is made available.'

The first minister considered her offer silently for a moment, then began to muse out loud. 'Well, we do log all movements between cities...perhaps we might be able to find some discrepancy in our records...'

'Yes...perhaps you might,' she replied, folding her arms across her chest as if demonstrating the matter was closed until he brought her some news.

'I'll advise my records officers to begin the checks as soon as working hours begin in the morning. As you can appreciate, they have put in a full day's work already today, and it may take some time to co-ordinate all records throughout the Centum Civis, but we'll do what we can. In the meantime, let me find you somewhere you can sleep for tonight.'

He dipped his head respectfully and left, leaving a fuming Elizabeth Weir in his wake.

'Can you believe this?' she asked Lorne. 'What they're doing here is...inhumane. And I'm reduced to offering them help!'

'We have to, Dr Weir,' Lorne told her. 'Much as we might want to distance ourselves from a government like this, we have to make these deals to secure the return of our people. Perhaps we should actually be offering more help. Dr Zelenka might actually be able to help speed up the information collating process, after all.'

Elizabeth looked the scientist's way, and he immediately nodded. 'That's true, and at least if I am involved we can ensure they really are trying to find them.'

'All right,' she agreed. 'If you're happy with that, Radek, we'll offer the first minister your services. I'd prefer it if we could start right now, but I suppose some rest might help us all, particularly you. You look exhausted.'

'Yes, I am feeling rather weary now,' he confessed with an apologetic smile.

Lorne nodded his agreement, too, but she could see he was as frustrated to meet yet another delay as she was. Still, their hands were tied, so to speak. They had to agree to some of Thalaezin's terms or she sensed they risked starting down a path to violence she really didn't want to take. She would grant him this one concession, but it was the only one she would give way on. Tomorrow, these people had better start helping them in earnest, or they were going to find out just how much damage a bunch of pissed-off Lanteans were capable of inflicting on their wonderful Centum Civis.

oooOOOooo

Curan Rabbrine trudged into his home laboratory and dropped his bag onto one of his workstations. He'd been out on call since the early hours, first at the Tranaedan household with that troublesome slave of theirs, and then at various other households across Traginta Duo.

He sat himself down at the workstation, and yelled for assistance. His serving girl was there within moments, pulling off his jacket and pouring him a strong drink to relax him.

He watched her work, admiring her lovely figure as she bent before him and helped to slip off his outdoor shoes and slipped on a more comfortable pair for him to work in.

'Will my meal be ready soon?'

'Yes, soon, Curan,' she promised, bowing low. 'May I be allowed to finish preparing it?'

'You may. Then I need you to come back down here and sterilise my medical equipment.'

'Of course, Curan,' she replied, backing her way from the room and scurrying away.

He took a long drink from his cut glass, savouring the flavour before swallowing it and allowing it to warm all the way down to his stomach. Today had been a profitable day indeed, but a tiring one. Perhaps tomorrow would be quieter and he could catch up on some rest.

He thought about the two injured slaves he'd tended, Jadrael and Romaed. Both men had struck him as a little odd in their demeanour, and both had previously been treated by Bathraen, Ashnael's physician of choice. He'd often wondered why the two men worked together so much, but he supposed it was the fact that Bathraen came cheap in comparison to most physicians, the compassionate fool. But why Bathraen agreed to work for Ashnael was beyond him. The man had always railed against slavery for as long as he'd known him, and yet he worked closely with the city's foremost slave trader. There had to be some other business between them...something Ashnael held over the man to force him to do his work. Or perhaps it was some shared secret...some profit making scheme that meant Bathraen could keep up appearances while turning a tidy profit behind the facade of his benevolence.

And now he thought about it, there was one kind of slave that could attract more many than most on Haraendon. He wondered if it could be so...it would certainly explain the odd behaviour.

He opened up his bag and pulled out the sets of surgical implements he'd used during the day. He'd only used them on the two injured slaves, as all the other ailments he'd attended to had needed medicine rather than physical intervention, and he looked at the two packages, wondering which of them he'd used on which slave.

Then he recalled he'd used the older set, the one with the blunter needles in need of sharpening on Jadrael, the facetious little lower caste who had held his own scalpel to his throat. He'd seen no point in wasting good equipment on his sort.

He set that one to one side, opening up the other set, the ones he'd use on Romaed, first. There was a small amount of blood dried up on numerous implements, so he took a dampened swab and swiped it across them, gathering as much as he could. Then, he wiped that swab on a slide and pushed it into his analysis equipment, where it was scanned and broken down into its component factors. After it had run through the full gamut of tests the results showed nothing unusual, exactly what he would expect to find in any blood sample from any member of Haraendon society. Of course, that didn't mean anything; he could still be an outsider, but one closely related to them. Many races around the Pegasus Galaxy showed slight variations, something that would mark them as different, and he'd been keeping a log of those differences whenever he'd travelled off world to purchase medicines and treat off-worlders in trade deals made by their government. But not this man; he was borderline anaemic, but nothing else showed up as a discrepancy.

He sighed, removing the slide and setting it aside.

Next, he repeated the process with the instruments used on Jadrael. He pushed the slide into his analyser and sat back to wait for the results, taking another deep drink from his beverage. Having only checked for the most common form of infection when testing his blood earlier, this broader analysis took more time, and sorely tested his patience.

The machine finished its scans and gave an odd beep, a message flashing up in red.

_Unidentified factor detected._

Rabbrine read the message twice before allowing it to sink in. Acknowledging the message, he asked the machine to display the results. There was, indeed, a specific gene that could not be identified in Jadrael's sample. He leapt from his seat and grabbed up the cable from the back of the machine, plugging it into his main computer system where his database was logged. He ran Jadrael's results, comparing them against all the information he had ever collected. He found no match anywhere.

Not only was Jadrael an off-worlder, he was an entirely new species of human to add to his database.

Of course, fascinating as that was, this discovery was not only of scientific interest, it could make him a small fortune. There were people on this planet, certain undesirables, who had approached him, seeking off-worlders to sell. They would pay very well for information like this, very well indeed.

Duraella, his serving girl, returned then. 'Your meal is ready, Curan. Will you be taking it in the dining room?'

'Don't trouble me with such things now, foolish girl!' he snapped, shooing her away with a wave of his hand.

'I'll keep it warm for you, Curan,' she sighed, backing away with her head held low.

He tutted that she had bothered him with more words when he was so busy. Pulling out his communicator, he scrolled through until he found the contact details he needed, then issued his message.

'Gullaen. It's Rabbrine. You should come to my home at your earliest convenience. I have something to show you I'm sure you'll be very interested in.'

oooOOOooo

Sheppard woke several hours later feeling somewhat improved. Bathraen's medicines, which he had assured him would soon bring his temperature down to a more manageable level had done just that, and now, much cooler, he actually needed to pull his blankets a little higher over himself to keep warm.

The bedclothes he tugged up to his chin felt soft and smelled clean, and for a moment he thought he was back on Atlantis, under the care of his friends and colleagues. Of course, when he opened his eyes, the dimly lit room, clean but clearly not Lantean in design, told him he had no such luck. He was still in the Tranaedan household, but in some kind of recovery room like the one he'd seen in Ashnael's home.

He tried shifting, finding himself slightly less uncomfortable all over than he had been. That was a good sign. He reached under the covers and pulled out the icepack, which was completely melted and dropped it on the floor, pushing himself carefully up into a sitting position.

'Hello, John. Are you feeling better?'

Ishraela's question made him almost leap clean out of his skin. 'Why do you always do that!' he gasped as she grinned innocently back at him.

'Can you walk?' she asked, her red eyes glinting in the lamplight as she gazed up at him.

He swung his legs to the side, over the edge of the bed, still feeling the pain, but it was far more subdued this time. 'Uh, I think so, but I won't be running any marathons for a while. Why? We going somewhere?'

'It's time.'

He squinted at her, wondering what her abstract reply meant. Then it dawned on him. 'Don't tell me – the sensory wants to talk to me, right?

The little girl nodded, her dirty red locks bouncing against her skinny shoulders. 'And it has to be tonight.'

So, the time had come. At last, he would meet the mysterious sensory who had been plaguing his dreams and trying to communicate with him through others for days. 'Tonight, huh? Well I hope he's close by because I'm not in any fit state for a long walk.'

'It's not far,' she assured him. 'It won't take long, and then you can rest again.'

Right now, he felt too tired to make it to the door, but somewhere at the back of his mind he could hear...something...nothing clear, just an urgency that told him he had to do this.

'All right, show me the way.'

She shook her head. 'I have to go and keep watch. I only came to give you this.' She held up a coded card in front of him. You'll need this to get to the sensory. I'll return it to the magister when you're done. Just listen to that voice you sense inside you. It'll show you the way.'

She darted out of the door and left him there to struggle off the bed and onto legs that hadn't born his weight for a day now. They were shaky, but thankfully held as he wobbled his way across to the door, catching himself on the handle and taking a breather. His skin was clammy already. Maybe this was going to be harder than he'd thought. But it was important, he could feel that, so he pushed his discomfort aside and shuffled his way out of the door, checking no one was there to see him leaving.

He walked down the corridor, that distant voice telling him he was heading the right way. Each step was a strain, and he couldn't exactly move fast, but the corridor was empty, so his lack of speed and his need to stop once in a while to let his discomfort subside didn't do him any harm. Thank heavens for ice packs, that was all he could say. If anyone had asked him to walk earlier, he'd have had to say "No way!".

Noticing a narrow slit in the wall, he heard the voice tell him to put the card into it. So he did, the previously concealed door drawing back to reveal a dimly lit staircase leading downwards from his level into deep shadows.

'Aw, crap!' he breathed. Why had he hoped for anything different? Everything about this place was designed to get him in trouble...so of course he would have to walk down a dark set of stairs into unknown territory. That much was a given.

He stepped over the threshold and the door closed behind him, making it even darker and harder to negotiate the slippery stone steps before him. So, the sensory didn't have the foresight to send the kid with a flashlight, huh? Not so all-knowing, after all. Treading carefully, feeling the way just in front of him with his foot before daring to take a step, he was relieved when he made it to the bottom of the stairs. No more injuries...he hoped. At least not as long as no one found him down there.

The temperature at that level was decidedly cooler with more than a hint of damp mustiness on the air. The walls either side of him felt like solid rock, he could tell from their craggy texture as he groped his way along the passageway. He was completely beneath the house now. This wasn't even a basement level; this was hewn from the ground itself, and that door had been almost impossible to see. No wonder no one ever came down here.

As he edged along, his feet splashing through puddles of pooled moisture, he spotted a small area of illumination in the passageway up ahead of him, just enough light to show a framework of metal beams ahead that supported the great solid slab of stone above him. He headed for the light, flinching with each drip of water from the damp stone surrounding him. There were probably bugs lurking in the dark, too...big bugs, and every droplet that hit him set him on edge. He still didn't do big bugs, not since that damned Iratus Bug had given him his first Pegasus Galaxy hickey. He shuddered involuntarily and swiped at his neck as a water droplet slid down his collarbone, cold and slick like an Iratus exoskeleton. He was his own worst enemy down here, his imagination taunting him with all kinds of horrors that most likely didn't exist on this planet.

Eventually he neared the dim light, finding it to be a small window in a door. Pushing it was no use because it was locked, so he spent the next several minutes fumbling around in the dark to find the control he needed to slot his card into...until that distant voice told him it was on the other side of the frame.

'You couldn't have said that five minutes ago!' he muttered, sliding his hand across the wall on the opposite side. He found the control and felt his way until the card hit the spot and the door withdrew to grant him access.

An awful stench hit him as soon as that barrier to the next room was withdrawn, reminding him of the pilot festering in the hangar somewhere above him now. What the hell was down here? Did Tranaedan make a habit of effectively embalming people while they were alive?

A rattling, rasping breath broke the silence, that and the whirl of mechanics. As the air was released a sound something like a growl issued forth, and he froze on the spot, not daring to take another step. He wasn't exactly in any fit state to put up a fight.

_Oh crap, I'm gonna get eaten! _he thought, licking his suddenly dry lips.

'You have nothing to fear on that count. I have not eaten anything for many, many years,' a gravelly voice responded from the shadows.

There was a wall of bars in front of him, dividing the room in two. Beyond the bars, most of the space was shrouded in darkness, hiding whoever lurked there from him. For a moment, his mind cast him back to the cells Kolya had locked him in between torture sessions while demanding information on Ladon Radim.

'And no, I am not Wraith,' the voice told him, as if in answer to his unspoken fears.

'No, but you're one hell of a mind reader,' Sheppard replied, squinting into the darkness. With his eyes now growing accustomed to the gloom, he saw he was standing only a few feet from a machine, one from which several hoses protruded, snaking their way through those bars. Yep, this was all sickeningly familiar, but at least this guy was talking. And the air felt different down here...more charged somehow. It made his head feel even weirder than it already did, as if someone were tightening a vice around his brain.

'Any chance you could come a little closer to the bars where I can see you?' he asked.

The voice choked out a sound that might have been a laugh, Sheppard wasn't sure. 'I haven't moved in as long as I haven't eaten, so I'm afraid I cannot comply.'

'Doesn't sound like much fun,' Sheppard muttered, realising that meant he would have to move forward instead. If he hadn't only had a pair of flimsy scrubs covering him from the waist down and nothing else, he might not have felt quite so vulnerable. But he ignored the thought he was about to have the life sucked out of him by some devious Wraith and edged closer, inch by inch, until the view of the real person in that cell emerged from the shadows.

The wretched, red-skinned creature confined there lifted his head, the only movement he seemed capable of. He was clothed, if you could call it that, in tatters of cloth that had most likely once been clothes, but now did little other than hang from his emaciated limbs like flayed skin. They certainly did almost nothing to mask the deformity of his body, and the various hideous lumps protruding from it. Nor did they hide the angry and weeping entry wounds where the hoses from the machine entered his body, feeding whatever vital supplies he needed into him. The floor of his cold, dismal cell was deep in red, sandy soil, clearly not native to this rocky sediment, but Sheppard doubted it was there for the purpose of warmth or comfort. Was it yet another thing this poor man needed to survive?

'Not to survive, but to perform. Tranaedan has created an environment for me that is as close to that of the enclosure I came from as it is safe to replicate. Without this, he worries that my abilities will weaken.'

Sheppard balked and fought to master his natural urge to draw back, but it was a shock to see someone in that condition. When he had imagined the sensory, he had never thought he would turn out to be such a pitiful sight.

'I imagine I am ugly to one such as you,' the croaky voice said, with just a hint of amusement. 'Believe it or not, I was quite the catch once...many, many moons ago.'

Sheppard smiled...kind of...trying not to stare. But he'd never seen anything quite like this man. Every inch of him looked diseased.

'Yes, I am sick, and soon I will die. I have given you time to grow accustomed to this world and learn to trust my voice, but events are moving quickly now. That is why you had to come this night.'

'If you needed to speak with me, why not just send me your thoughts? You've been doing it anyway,' Sheppard asked, shivering now in the cold.

'Because I needed you to see me, to believe in me. If I was just a voice in your head, you could have dismissed me once you were home in your beautiful city, but it's important that you don't. It's important for all of us that you don't forget us.'

'When you say "us," who exactly do you mean?' Sheppard pressed, rubbing the gooseflesh from his arms.

'You, your friends, the slaves, my people...the upper caste too, in a way,' the sensory replied enigmatically.

'So, pretty much everyone on the planet, huh? No pressure then.' The machine beside Sheppard whirred, making him start. He really needed to get a grip on himself, but this place, with its homicidal owners had him spooked. 'Look, no offence but you're a pretty talented guy. Why don't you just convince these people to let you go...control them somehow?'

'What we do is not about control – our abilities are not that strong. We can see into the thoughts of others, and we can make suggestions, but we cannot make anyone do something completely against their true nature. The people of the Centum Civis will never voluntarily free any of their slaves. Of this much I am certain. And that is why we need your intervention.'

The sensory sucked in a shuddering breath and seemed to phase out for a moment, but then he rallied, lifting his head and fixing his gaze on the colonel again.

'I am sorry to put all this on your shoulders, John, but you of all people who have come to this planet are the one I feel capable of doing what is needed.'

Sheppard huffed a laugh into his chest. 'Right now, I'd have trouble tying my own shoes, so I hope you're not expecting much.'

The sensory let out a wheezing cackle at his joke. 'I am sorry for what you have gone through thus far, but I'm afraid there is still much for you to overcome before you find your way home.'

'You're not really selling this to me,' Sheppard muttered, wishing he could just walk away now and wait for his friends to come.

'You cannot wait for them. They will not find you in time. That is why I called you here tonight.'

'You know, that is really very disturbing,' Sheppard told him, unsure now whether all the shivering was purely temperature related. This guy, the way he seemed to know everything he was thinking, really was creeping him out.

'If I didn't know what you were thinking, I wouldn't be much of a sensory, would I?' the man asked, forcing a smile onto his wizened and misshapen face. The effort looked painful, and it turned Sheppard's stomach to think of what he was going through.

'Can you tell me what number I'm thinking of?' Sheppard asked, half-joking, but half wondering just how good he was. Most of the stuff he'd said so far could have just been answers to something he'd read in his expression. Something more specific might convince him this was no trickery.

The sensory laughed again, but this time the effort seemed to leave him drained. His head hung for a few moments, then he managed to lift it once more. 'You're a funny man, John Sheppard of Atlantis, but the time for jokes is over. What I have to tell you is important, and you must listen closely.'

Sheppard nodded now, instantly sobered. The man had mentioned Atlantis, which he knew he hadn't spoken of to anyone on this planet. So, since he had no explanation for that, he figured it was time to prick his ears up and pay attention.

'Very soon, something will happen, something that will give you the opportunity to get out of this place. You must take it.'

'Get out of here? If there was a way out, I would have taken it days ago.'

'Please...listen, John. You have to trust me about this. The opportunity will come...you will escape with the help of the child, Ishraela. You must do what she tells you. If you do not, your chance will be lost and you will disappear in the Centum Civis, never to be found.'

Okay, this guy really knew how to get his attention. Now he had to listen. 'So what's gonna happen?'

'I cannot tell you, because if you know, others might find out...others who could use the information to thwart you,' the sensory told him.

Sheppard wanted to say he wasn't about to go telling anyone else, but then figured this guy already knew that much about him. 'You mean others like you?'

'I do. Trust the child, John, and she will show you the way, but the time has to be right. If you had tried to escape before, the Tranaedans would have brought you back before you managed to leave the city and this real chance would have evaporated into the ether with so many other possible futures.'

Sheppard nodded, not understanding how this time would be different, but willing to accept his word.

'When you get out of here, things may not be easy, but you must believe you can succeed in freeing yourself and others, even if your path puts you in danger.'

'And how is any of this going to help your people?'

'You've seen what life in Traginta Duo is like. Everything is driven by greed, lust and power. Your struggle will bring attention to our plight, both that of my people in the Forbidden Zones and the slaves of the Centum Civis, to people who can make a difference.'

'And if I fail?'

A deep sadness filled the old man's eyes. 'If you do not get free, the future for many slaves will be bleak.'

'Bleaker than it already is?' Sheppard asked, finding that hard to believe.

'You do not know yet of your true purpose in this house, do you?' the man asked, suddenly stopping to rattle out a cough that Sheppard feared might force out a lung.

'Well, I have an idea...' he said, not really wanting to elaborate.

'No...you do not,' the man told him. 'Haraendon is blighted by sterility. Most of the population are unable to produce offspring. Only a few remain fertile.' The man paused there, a meaningful pause, and one Sheppard suspected was meant to give him time to work things out for himself.

And he did.

'Magistra Tranaedan. She wants to have kids?'

The man feebly nodded, groaning with the pain of the effort.

'So, she wants me to get her...pregnant?'

'Yes.'

Sheppard didn't know whether to be relieved or disgusted. This revelation meant the magistra wasn't necessarily after him in quite the way he imagined, but the fact all she wanted was a sperm donation made her advances all the more insulting. 'So me and the other pilots before me are going through this because she wants to play mommy?'

'The child would merely be a means to an end. A wealthy woman able to bear children would be highly valued in the Centum Civis.'

Now Sheppard got it. This was what she meant when she said she needed his help to get out of there. If other wealthy men in the cities got to hear she was pregnant, they might take her from Tranaedan. He guessed she really was desperate to get away from her life after all.

'Sadly for her, her plan will fail.'

'Why?' Sheppard asked.

'Her age is against her...she has left it too late. She is desperately trying to stave off the aging process, but I see no child in her future. Her body may simply no longer be capable of sustaining a life within it.'

So, his cooperation would have been for nothing anyway. It was kind of comforting to know that if he succumbed somehow...and he knew she had some kind of powerful aura about her that made him lose his senses sometimes...he wouldn't be leaving a kid behind.

'She is powerful...never forget that...and determined to see her plan through. In her heart, she knows she is too old, and soon she will seek other means to fulfil her scheme. Lanae is unaffected by the sickness, she could have children, that is why the Magistra has paid to ask government scientists keep the truth a secret...and she has paid much for their silence to keep Lanae at her side. She knew even when Lanae was a child that she was unaffected.'

'How?'

'Because the magistra knows a great deal, John, and you would do well to remember that. Anyway, our medicine is advanced...you can see that,' he tipped his head toward the machine keeping him alive. 'And that gives the magistra a chance to see her plan through. Curan Rabbrine will take healthy reproductive organs from Lanae and implant them into the magistra. The operation will succeed, Magistra Tranaedan will win her freedom from her husband, then more such butchery will follow to appease the needs and desires of the wealthy. The unaffected slaves will become nothing more than donors, both male and female alike, and though they could be saved, they will be cast aside to die...thrown out with the cities' rubbish, ridding this world of the evidence of their crimes.'

Sheppard closed his eyes but couldn't block the images the sensory sent his way, the sight of bodies ripped open for organs then tossed out awaiting collection. Blood, raw exposed tissue and grey faces bereft of life proved almost too much for him in his weakened state. He swayed, catching himself on the bars. 'We can't let that happen,' he breathed, feeling his anger peak along with his revulsion.

'And that is why you are here,' the man said, matter-of-fact. 'Because you will not.'

As the images faded back to the recesses of his mind, Sheppard asked, 'So, what now? I just wait for whatever it is that's going to happen to happen?'

'Yes, but there is one more thing you must do first,' the sensory told him, lifting his head to look directly at him.

'Get you out of here?' Sheppard asked. He looked along the bars, but they were secured by a completely different kind of lock to that on the doors. He wasn't sure how he could do it.

'In a manner of speaking,' the man said quietly, waiting for Sheppard to look at him again.

The colonel did now, and for once, he was the one reading minds. 'You want me to kill you.'

'You have to, John. If you do not, Tranaedan or his wife will get information from me that will hinder your escape. I have been withholding the truth for some time now, but I grow ever weaker and he pushes me harder every time to squeeze every last opportunity from me. I must die tonight to give you the best chance possible to succeed.'

Sheppard shook his head, raking his fingers back through his hair. 'There has to be some other way...'

'I will die soon anyway, John. All you are doing is speeding my passage and easing my pain. I know you can do this. You know it's the right thing to do...just as you know it's the right thing for Faraenal.'

'But I can't kill him because Tranaedan will know what I've done. So how am I supposed to kill you?'

'It's easy, John. That machine...the one keeping me alive...Use your key card to prise off the small panel beneath the black hose.'

Sheppard blinked at him a moment, then shuffled over to the machine, wincing as he bent down to find the panel he meant. When he moved the hose aside and located it, he did as the sensory asked, prising it off. Behind it were several wires that fed power into the system, one of which was very frayed, barely connected.

'You know what to do, John. No one will ever know it wasn't natural wear and tear.'

John peered back over his shoulder at him. 'Are you sure you really want this?'

The man dipped his head once, the tired old eyes reminding him so much of Sumner when he'd given him the all clear to shoot him that it brought all kinds of unwanted memories rushing back to him. So much had happened since then, so many people had died, but none of them had wanted it like this man did. Who was he to refuse to help? He took the wire in his fingers, then hesitated, halted by the sense that the sensory deserved better than this.

'Please, John. For everyone.'

Forcing down his own feelings, Sheppard swallowed hard and pulled, the wire coming loose from its connection and instantly silencing the hum of the machine.

'Now put the cover back and leave,' the sensory said quietly.

Sheppard put the cover in place and pushed up, limping to the bars. 'You...you want me to stay with you?'

The sensory smiled, tears in his tired old eyes. 'No, John. There's no need. I'm not afraid of death. I have longed for it for so many years that I'm happy to embrace it.'

'But you don't have to do it alone.'

'Yes I do. Because if you don't leave now, she will find you here.'

'The magistra?'

The sensory nodded, his eyes suddenly heavy. 'She knows much...and I have kept this all from her –what you are here to do – but now I have to leave and you must face her alone, so be sure not to underestimate her. Now go, and stay away from her as much as you can...that is the best way to keep what I have told you from her.'

Sheppard nodded, backing away and opening the door that led back out onto the corridor outside the cell. As the door slid shut, he heard the man say, 'Thank you.'

He swallowed down the lump those words caused to rise in his throat, and stumbled back through the darkness, back to wait for his promised opportunity to come.


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N: Thanks again for all the feedback/favourites/alerts etc. A special thanks here to those of you without accounts because I can't respond to you individually as I do with other reviewers. I appreciate you all taking the time to leave your comments. :)**

* * *

**Chapter 23 **

Now back in the corridor where he'd previously been resting, Sheppard was once again almost frightened out of his skin by Ishraela's sudden appearance. She signalled for him to be quiet, and held out her hand, into which he slipped the key card. Then she jabbed her finger toward the recovery room and ran past him, disappearing again before he could look around and see where she went.

When he reached the recovery room, Raelzine was waiting for him. His return was obviously a huge relief to her, and she rushed over, throwing her arms around him, if only briefly. The groan he gave soon had her letting go, holding him at arm's length instead.

'Where have you been, boy?' she gushed, looking both distressed and relieved in one great whirl of emotion. 'When I got here and couldn't find you, I...'

'Thought I'd had an "unfortunate accident"?' he finished for her, limping now toward the bed so he could sit down and rest his legs. 'Even I'm not so unlucky that could happen two days running.'

Raelzine helped him get himself comfortable, lifting his legs onto the bed. 'Your feet are filthy...and you're freezing cold. Where have you been?' she demanded, moving into full mother hen mode.

'I just needed a walk,' he replied casually. 'I don't know how I got so dirty.'

'Well not walking my corridors, you didn't,' she huffed, grabbing a flannel from a bowl of water and batting his hands away when he tried to take it from her. 'Lanae and I keep this place spotless, young man...but if you don't want to tell me where you've been, that's all right. I'll respect your privacy – it's not as if you get much of it in a house like this.'

She wiped his feet clean and then pulled the blankets up over him, practically tucking him in. Sheppard let her do her thing because he knew it would be futile to try to resist. Raelzine was happiest when busy, and looking after him gave her something to do.

'Here, you need to take this now,' she said, handing him a pill and a glass of water. 'Magistra Tranaedan has left me in charge of your medicine, so don't you go giving me any trouble. Understand?'

Though she'd reminded him of his nanny when he'd first met her, Raelzine's manner had altered, and she'd definitely warmed to him, something his nanny never managed to do. He took the pill as instructed then lay back against his pillows, worn out by his excursions and troubled by the thought of the man in the cell beneath his room now breathing his last. He supposed dying alone, if it was your choice, was a dignified way to go, and heaven knew there was little else dignified about the way that man had been treated. For once, the sensory had been allowed to do something his way, and, sad as the man's death left him, the thought he had helped him to die the way he'd wanted to eased his conscience, just a little.

Once she was sure he was settled and comfortable, Raelzine started fussing around in the room instead, checking drawers and tidying things inside them, muttering under her breath as she worked. 'Boys are always far more trouble than girls. They're never satisfied with their lot, always wanting to check things out, see if there's more to be seen. You can't just go wandering around exploring in your owners' house like that. I used to tell Manstaen that all the time, but he was just like you...always interfering in things that didn't concern him...always pushing the rules.'

'How old was he when he died?' he asked. He'd heard the name so often now, seen his body...even been the man himself in one of his nightmares, no doubt courtesy of the sensory...but he had no real idea of how old he'd been.

'Now, let me see,' she mused, rolling her eyes to the ceiling as she cast her mind back. 'Manstaen was the third child I gave birth to in this household, the last one I ever had – thinking back, he must have been twenty-one years, I suppose.'

Sheppard felt sick. He'd had no inkling that Manstaen was close to anyone other than Lanae. To find out he'd been Raelzine's son was a genuine shock. 'I...I didn't know you were related.'

'Well, you never asked,' she smiled, but as she did, a tear broke loose and trickled down her cheek. She scrubbed it away and got on with her work.

'I never imagined someone in your position would have kids...you know, being a slave.'

She glanced back over her shoulder at him, amused by what she obviously viewed as his naivety. 'Well how else do we keep the numbers up? Slaves don't just fall out of the sky...your case being the exception.'

'So, were you married?'

Now she actually laughed, straightening up and wandering over to him, stretching out the kinks in her back. 'Now there's a romantic notion,' she chuckled. 'I can tell you're new to all this.'

It occurred to him then that he _was _being rather dumb. There was another way she'd become pregnant, the good old-fashion way slave owners had done it back on Earth in their time. 'Manstaen was Tranaedan's son.'

'That's right...at least biologically. We had a son and daughter before him that he sold on, but when Manstaen came along, the magister decided to hold onto him. We had a labourer who was getting old, and Magister Tranaedan realised Manstaen would be coming to a useful age just as he was reaching the end of his. I forget what his name was now...Uvael, I think.'

'No wonder you were so prickly when I first got here. I was replacing your son,' Sheppard breathed, feeling guilty.

'Well, I admit I was a little hurt by the speed they replaced him, though not entirely surprised. But that wasn't the reason I was "prickly" as you called it. You have an excess of attitude, young man, and I thought you were going to be trouble – still do, in fact. But I do understand your need to stand up to the Tranaedans. No free man should be forced to live like this.'

'No one should be forced to live like this Raelzine. Not you, not Manstaen, not Lanae, not anyone. And I'm gonna fix this. You can trust me on that.'

She smiled patiently, her expression barely masking a world of sadness. 'Manstaen used to dream of freedom, that was why he was so excited when Magister Tranaedan offered to train him to be their pilot after Faraenal disappeared. It gave him a taste of the world outside the house.'

'Disappeared?' Sheppard echoed, remembering the poor wretch trapped in the ship down in the hangar. 'So you guys don't know what happened to him?'

Raelzine gave him a knowing look. 'He's dead, I'm certain,' she told him ruefully. 'No one ever leaves the Tranaedan household alive, unless they are sold on as a babe. There are too many secrets to keep here. The only way to get out from under Tranaedan control is to die. Though I miss him, there are days I think Manstaen was the lucky one. My only real regret is that I wasn't there to help in his time of need, and that I wasn't allowed to attend his burial.'

'Because you're slave class,' Sheppard grunted, though he knew the real reason was something far more sinister. He swore to himself there and then that he would ensure this woman buried her son...her youngest child, and gained some peace of mind from it.

'Well, now I know you're safe I'll let you rest,' the woman said, tucking in the edge of his blanket again as a final gesture of motherliness. 'Now promise me you won't go wandering off again tonight. I need to give you some more medicine later and I don't think my heart could stand it if you disappeared again.'

'Sorry, Raelzine. I promise,' he replied, smiling as she patted his arm and then left the room. He got the feeling he'd just become her adoptive son, and in a way he was happy to accept her as his adoptive mother. It was the one positive thing about being here, and he realised he was actually going to miss her maternal remonstrations when he got out of there.

In the back of his mind, he heard the sound of a deep sigh, a final rattle of breath, and he knew then the sensory had passed on. The man who had led him here was free at last.

Trying not to dwell on the tiny nugget of guilt eating at his conscience, he wriggled down lower under his sheets and made himself comfortable. Soon, he would gain his own freedom, that was what the sensory had told him. If he could stay out of trouble for long enough, he and his team would be home and dry.

oooOOOooo

Later that night, Sheppard woke to the sound of raised voices near his room. Out on the corridor, there was yelling and the sound of footfalls hurrying past his door.

Much as he still ached, his curiosity won out and he slipped from his bed and padded over to the door, pulling it open and peering out in the direction of the noise.

The first person he spotted was Tranaedan, his face nearly purple with anger. He was raging, almost out of control as he had been when he'd assaulted him. Sticking with his plan of staying out of trouble, he was about to duck back into his room and steer clear of him, when he realised Raelzine and Lanae were there, trying to calm him. Worried they might get hurt, he headed out to join them as fast as his injuries would allow him to walk.

'How did he know he was down there? How did this happen?' the magister ranted, fists clenched tight at his sides.

As Sheppard closed in on them all, Magistra Tranaedan rose up the staircase and out of the concealed doorway he'd used only hours earlier. 'I'm sorry, Husband. But he's definitely dead.'

Tranaedan grabbed handfuls of his hair and tugged on it, screaming furiously through his gritted teeth. So they'd found the sensory. Well, Sheppard had known this was coming. All he had to do was play it cool and everything would be fine.

'What's going on?' he asked Lanae, the one standing closest to him.

She was shaking, clearly afraid of what her furious master would do. 'You should get back in bed, Jadrael. You can do nothing to help here.'

'No!' Tranaedan shouted, striding toward him and grasping his shoulders. 'If you're well enough to be standing here, you're well enough to fly. Go to your room, use the elevator if you must, and get dressed. I need you to fly me to Mercator Ashnael's house.'

The magistra pushed forward now, pulling her husband's hands away from him. 'He is not that well yet, and I doubt Mercator Ashnael will thank you for disturbing him at this hour. Wait until morning. At least let Jadrael have that much rest.'

He wondered why she was being so considerate, then, pondering whether it might be because she thought she could gain solitary access to him while he was down here, and decided he was up to the flight Tranaedan had suggested.

'I don't mind. I can fly if you need me to, Magister.'

'Good man. Now go, get yourself ready,' the man ordered.

Sheppard hobbled away, glad to be out of the main cut and thrust and hoping his agreement to serve the magister would go some way to diffuse his anger for the others. He could still hear him arguing with his wife as he reached the elevator, but he could care less about that. From what the sensory had said, she was the biggest danger to him in the house, and he meant to stay well clear of her until whatever was meant to happen played out.

He got to his room and dressed as quickly as he could. He was still stiff as hell, and pulling clothes on over his belt buckle welts was uncomfortable to say the least, but he forced himself to focus on the task ahead. He just needed to stay alive and out of trouble for a few more days at most, the sensory had told him so, and then he would be out of here.

Once he'd struggled into his uniform he headed down to the hangar, and when he entered it he found Tranaedan already there and pacing. 'Jadrael...good man...we'll take this one,' he grunted activating his favourite craft. He'd been hoping to get a chance to fly that one again, so Sheppard gave no complaint.

And now he was going to see Ashnael again. That was going to be an interesting and potentially awkward reunion, but one he hoped might give him at least a glimpse of Ronon. The big guy had been on his mind since he'd spoken with Rodney, and he hoped what he found there would make him feel better.

'It seems there's no one in my household I can trust,' Tranaedan muttered under his breath, as they started out through the city streets.

Sheppard wasn't sure whether this was his attempt to start a conversation or whether it was just one of those rhetorical statements that needed no qualification. He erred on the side of caution and waited to see if he spoke again.

'You're really not seeing me at my best, Jadrael. I'm under an immense amount of pressure at the moment, what with business and my wife...' Sheppard glanced at him from the corner of his eye, and saw him looking his way. He decided not to comment again.

'I'm sure you think I'm overreacting, but he was one of my most loyal servants...I can't believe he did this.'

No one had actually told him anything useful at the house, so Sheppard had to play ignorant for fear of letting on that he was involved in the sensory's demise. 'I'm not sure what to say, Magister. I have no idea what's happened.'

'Waelden betrayed me. I never thought I'd see the day this would happen. He has always served me well, but I saw him there with my own eyes.

That wasn't what Sheppard had been expecting him to say. He masked his surprise with another question. 'What has he done, Magister?'

'Killed my sensory,' was the blunt response.

His heart leaping into his throat, Sheppard fought with the guilt those words awakened, keeping his response even. 'What's a sensory?'

Tranaedan sighed, letting his head fall back against the seat. 'Very expensive and very hard to come by.'

But of course he'd think of the old man in monetary terms. He was a businessman, just like his dad had been. Every decision in life was weighed up against its monetary impact, even those of a more personal nature.

'And now, on top of that, I need a new house guard, too.'

Sheppard frowned, looking over at him. 'Why?'

'Well, I couldn't let treachery like that go unpunished, could I? He even tried to tell me he hadn't done it...that he'd seen my wife down there and followed her in...that she'd trapped him when asking him to plug the hoses back in to see if the sensory could be resuscitated.'

'The hoses?' He hadn't pulled out any hoses. He'd just tugged on that damaged wire, that was all, so it would look like an unfortunate lack of maintenance not deliberate sabotage. So when had the hoses been ripped out? Had Waelden really been trying to kill the sensory?

But Tranaedan had said Waelden had accused the magistra of tampering with the old man. The sensory had been afraid she would come to him before he died, that was why he'd asked him to pull the wire. No doubt Waelden had been telling the truth, and she'd turned the tables on him to cover her tracks, framing him for murder to ensure the magister would dispose of him, ending her problem. Another innocent life snubbed out. Even if he hadn't exactly seen eye to eye with Waelden, Sheppard did appreciate that he'd only been following orders in his dealings with him. And now, he'd simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time, it seemed. And he knew how that felt only too well.

'I'm guessing bodyguards are easier to come by than sensories,' he said, fighting the bitterness from his tone.

'They are, but they take time to fill their role effectively. They need training. This really is a problem I could do without.'

_Get the violins out, _Sheppard thought, but he kept it well hidden.

Tranaedan directed him to Ashnael's home, the familiar structure lit now by phosphorescent lamps in the insipid moonlight. The sight of the place had his stomach instantly knotting. He really wanted to punch this guy's lights out, but he had to keep that urge at bay, not matter how smug and arrogant he might be with him.

A very bleary-eyed Dezrin answered the door at the sound of Tranaedan's persistent pounding. He blinked several times before first recognising the magister, and then Sheppard himself. Tranaedan announced that he wanted to see Ashnael, pushing past him before the young man could refuse him entrance and planting himself in the large entrance hall with an air that suggested he wouldn't leave until he'd got his request.

Dezrin hurried away to speak with his master, and Sheppard looked around at the place again, drinking in more of the scenery than he had on that first, tense and anxious visit. The hallway was lined with paintings, fantastically executed, but all with dark and disturbing images of war and bloodshed. Alongside them were strategically placed sculptures of men fighting or seriously injured. From what Rodney and Bathraen had told him, this guy evidently had a one track mind.

A few moments later, a dishevelled looking Ashnael stepped out of his elevator and stumbled toward them, hair mussed and dressing gown loosely tied ...a little too loosely Sheppard decided when he got a glimpse of rather more than he'd bargained for.

'Magister Tranaedan. Much as I am pleased to see you, I have to confess I'm never at my best at this hour.'

It was a mild rebuke veiled in politeness, but a rebuke all the same. Tranaedan clenched his fists at his sides, and Sheppard could feel his mounting annoyance at the smaller man's tone. With any luck, his owner would give him the punch he longed to deliver.

'I apologise for the unsociable timing, but my household is in crisis. I have to put plans to solve this into place immediately.'

Ashnael blinked at him, thankfully straightening his clothing out. 'Crisis? I see. This way, please.'

Ashnael showed them to the drawing room where he'd deposited Ronon on their arrival, and Tranaedan dropped down on the chaise longue, his head in his hands. With the magister's attention diverted, Ashnael shot Sheppard a filthy look, one Sheppard wasted no time in returning. No way was he sucking up to this guy. He was the reason he was stuck in the madhouse he'd spent the last few days in...well...he was at least partly responsible. The sensory, of course, had played a substantial role in that, too.

'So, Magister Tranaedan, how can I help with this crisis?' Ashnael asked, still glaring at the colonel.

'I need a new sensory.'

Ashnael's eyes widened as they slid in the direction of the big man seated in his drawing room. 'A sensory? You mean...one of the afflicted?'

'That's right. My sensory has died this night and now I need a new one. I'm willing to pay handsomely, of course.'

'Of course,' Ashnael smirked, and Sheppard could almost see the dollar signs flashing in his eyes. Just like Tranaedan, his world was governed by money. 'But they are not ease to acquire. The enclosures are closed...no way in or out...' he mused, considering the request. 'It will take specialist equipment and I'll need permissions to obtain both them and passage from the city...'

Tranaedan held up a hand, fixing him with a hard stare. 'I'm not interested in hearing the problems and difficulties. I have a contact in the government. I can get you the permissions. You just get me a sensory, and you can name your price.'

Those words left Ashnael looking fit to burst. 'Why don't I get us some refreshments? Perhaps your pilot could help me?'

Tranaedan flapped his hand Sheppard's way, dismissing him to follow Ashnael wherever he was going. Though not happy, Sheppard left the room behind him, wandering the corridor until they dipped into another room – the kitchen. Dezrin was there, and bowed his head when his master entered, awaiting instructions.

'A pot of lavaetha and two cups...quickly,' Ashnael barked, before rounding on Sheppard, grabbing his lapels and swinging him against the wall. 'Just a warning, pilot. Don't try anything smart like telling Tranaedan that I sold an off-worlder to his wife.'

Sheppard smirked despite his pain, glad that Ashnael was sweating it. 'You seriously think I would do that when he'd kill me if he found that out. Mind you...I don't think he'd be too happy with you either. I wonder which of the two of us has the most to lose.'

Ashnael drew back his fist, ready to punch him, but Sheppard caught his wrist, stopping him. 'I'm already sick, Ashnael. You hit me and there's no telling what damage you might do. Not sure how you'd explain that to my "master".'

'He wouldn't care...you're just a servant...a slave.'

'But I'm his slave, and I get the impression he wouldn't take to kindly to anyone else abusing me.'

Ashnael punched the wall next to him and let him go, shaking out his grazed knuckles.

'Oh, and another thing. I understand you still have Ronon here. If I find out you've been mistreating him again, I might just get all distressed and something about this might...slip out. My tongue get's kinda loose when I'm worried about my friends.'

'I'll just have to make sure you don't get to hear about it, won't I?' Ashnael sneered. 'You may have been someone special where you came from Sheppard, but here, you're the lowest of the low. It'll be easy to keep news from you.'

'Then I guess you'd better hope I'm not the kind to assume the worst, because you know what? If I think my friend is suffering at your hand, I'm willing to give the game away. At least when Tranaedan kills you for supplying his wife with breeding stock, Ronon won't be under your control any more.'

'You wouldn't have the courage,' Ashnael growled, his furious gaze seeking signs of Sheppard's dishonesty.

But he wouldn't find them. Sheppard meant it. 'I wouldn't push me on that.'

When Ashnael moved away, Sheppard saw Dezrin behind him, slack jawed with shock at the way he had addressed his owner. Well, that kid might not have the guts to stand up to him, but Sheppard felt no such fear. Ashnael had to know how possessive Tranaedan was of his wife. The risk of Sheppard letting him know what he'd done was one he simply wouldn't take. He was too much of a coward.

'Get that tray and follow me through,' he ordered, which he did willingly. They needed a reason for Sheppard going to the kitchen, and if it meant carrying a few pots even though he wasn't getting a drink himself, he could do that much.

They returned to Tranaedan, who was still looking pale and anxious as he awaited them. He accepted the drink when Ashnael poured it for him, swigging it back in one go. Sheppard didn't know what lavaetha was, but it had smelled warm and alcoholic, so he supposed the Earth equivalent might be mulled wine, not his drink of choice, but right now he would have settled for it.

'So, are you willing to take up my challenge?' the magister asked, setting down his glass where Ashnael could pour him more.

'Of course. I will need a day or two to gather the equipment and the people I will need to assist me, but I promise you will have a new sensory before this week is out.'

Tranaedan nodded, visibly calming at the sound of those words. 'That's good to know. Thank you.'

Ashnael sat in another seat across the room, leaning forward with apparent interest. 'So, I have heard rumours of these sensories, but never actually met anyone who owned one. Are they really worth the trouble it will take to get one?'

Tranaedan narrowed his eyes at the man, and Sheppard watched as a hint of cold annoyance clouded his face. 'Would I be here at this hour if it wasn't?' he pointed out.

'No, I suppose not,' Ashnael conceded, sipping from his drink. 'So what happened to the last one? Was it natural causes?'

Again, anger darkened the magister's expression. 'I pay you to find me slaves, not ask questions, Mercator Ashnael. What happens within my household is none of your business, just as what happens in yours is none of mine. And I think we can both admit to having secrets we'd rather not share.'

Ashnael's eyes darted momentarily to Sheppard, before focusing back on Tranaedan. 'Of course Magister Tranaedan. Excuse my rudeness.'

Finishing his second drink, Tranaedan slammed the cup down on a metallic side table. 'All I will say is the sooner you find me a sensory, the more I'll be willing to pay. My household is exposed without one. People of my status need the protection a sensory's guidance provides.'

The magister had said much more than Sheppard had expected him to, revealing a level of vulnerability the likes of Ashnael would be likely to pounce on. Was this how he would find his way getting free? Would Ashnael instigate some kind of assault in the Tranaedan household? But why should he? He had a good life here...no apparent interest in the likes of Magistra Tranaedan if what Bathraen had said was true. And he had Ronon. _Ronon, of course!_

'Magister Tranaedan, may I speak?' Sheppard asked as subserviently as he could manage.

Looking surprised, Tranaedan said, 'You may.'

As Sheppard stepped forward away from the wall where he'd propped himself, Ashnael tensed, clearly worried what he was about to say. 'You need a new personal slave...a bodyguard...as well as a sensory, perhaps even more so while you feel so _exposed_.'

Tranaedan nodded, wagging his index finger his way. 'Jadrael's right. I do. I need you to get me a bodyguard. I presume you can do that more quickly?'

Ashnael's colour, which had completely drained from his face at Sheppard's interruption, began to return. 'Yes, Magister. Of course. I heard earlier of a household in Sep –'

'He has one here. Biggest man I ever saw. You could use someone like that. I'm pretty sure no one would get past him.'

Ashnael's face dropped instantly, and he gave Sheppard a murderous look. 'The man he's talking about is recently acquired and not yet fit for sale.'

'What do you mean?' Tranaedan asked, clearly intrigued.

'He's almost feral. You couldn't trust him to do what was required if you were in trouble. Why don't I track down someone else with a better record for loyalty?'

'Loyalty cannot be guaranteed no matter what their record,' Tranaedan grunted, pushing up from his seat. 'Show me this man and I'll decide for myself.'

Ashnael pushed Sheppard aside as he strode from the room, giving him another lethal glare. Sheppard tagged along behind the two men as they headed for the elevator, but when they reached it, the slave trader blocked his way in.

'There is no need for you to travel with us. Wait here.'

Sheppard knew he couldn't argue in another man's house, but he dearly wanted to go with them. If he wasn't there, Ashnael might manage to talk Tranaedan out of taking Ronon, but knowing what he did about Ashnael, he couldn't waste the opportunity to get his friend away from him.

As his mind raced for a reason to join them, Tranaedan himself spoke up. 'I'd rather keep this one with me, if it's all the same Mercator Ashnael. I have lost enough slaves this night; I have no intention of losing another.'

'He cannot get out. My home is secure,' Ashnael assured him.

'Except one of your slaves is up and can open the door. That isn't as secure as I would like it to be.'

'He's identity chipped, isn't he?' Ashnael asked. 'He couldn't hide from you.'

Tranaedan stared at the man until he began to shrink away from him. 'Is there some reason why I shouldn't take him with me, Mercator Ashnael?'

'N...no,' Ashnael stammered, his stance no less confrontational. 'Of course not. He can ride with us if it makes things easier for you.'

They travelled down to a lower level, where Sheppard and Tranaedan followed him to the recovery room, a familiar trip for the colonel. As soon as his eyes fell on his friend, Sheppard could see that Ronon had been beaten, perhaps more than once, since some of the bruises looked like they were just developing while others were already fully formed. The fury that sight awoke within him was hard to contain, but contain it he did, feeling Ashnael's eyes drilling into him the whole time.

'What happened to him?' Tranaedan asked.

'I told you. He isn't ready for sale yet. He's a wild man and I am in the process of training him.'

Tranaedan nodded as if that was the acceptable method of slave control. 'Wake him.'

Ashnael huffed out a sigh and crossed to the bed, giving Ronon's shoulder a sharp shake.

Ronon's green eyes instantly flashed open and he strained against his magnetised cuffs, desperate to lash out.

Needing to get his attention, Sheppard spoke to the magister. 'See, I told you he was big, Magister.'

At the sound of Sheppard's voice, Ronon's head spun his way, and Sheppard, who had positioned himself a pace behind his "owner", gave him the signal to hold.

Ronon stopped straining, looking now at Tranaedan as if wondering who the hell he was.

'He doesn't seem so bad, Ashnael,' the man said, folding his arms while he regarded him. 'From your description I was expecting far worse.'

'Well, he's restrained, Magister Tranaedan. There's not much trouble he can cause like this.'

'Then release him. Let's see what the man's capable of.'

Pouting, Ashnael pulled his cuff control out of his dressing gown pocket and deactivated Ronon's bands. After a quick look at Sheppard, in which he no doubt ascertained his friend was making no attempt to mount an escape, Ronon sat up and slipped off the bed, standing in front of Tranaedan. Though the magister was big, Ronon was bigger, and he stared at the man with a certain amount of attitude, but no real menace.

Tranaedan met his gaze and nodded, apparently pleased with what he saw. 'Ashnael tells me you're difficult to handle. Is this true?'

'Depends how I'm treated,' the Satedan grunted, folding his arms, his biceps bulging.

'If you come to my household, you will have a room, all the food you need, and if you do your duties and treat me with respect, you will have no trouble. How does that sound?'

Ronon shrugged. 'Sounds good.'

Sheppard thanked the stars that Ronon had picked up on what was happening so quickly. He was on his best behaviour, as respectful as Ronon ever got. All Sheppard had to hope was that it was good enough for Tranaedan. The magister wasn't exactly the most stable person to serve, but at least he wasn't a sadistic pervert, and at least they would be together. This way, if he was getting out soon as the sensory had told him, Ronon could go with him.

'Mercator Ashnael tells me he's had to discipline you. Why is that?'

Ronon cast an accusatory look Ashnael's way. 'I don't respect him. He doesn't treat me fairly.'

Tranaedan smiled, quirking an eyebrow at Ashnael. 'You can't expect your slaves to serve you well if you don't treat them fairly. I think this young man and I could work together. I'll take him. Prepare his papers and bring him over in the morning.'

Much as Tranaedan sounded like the biggest hypocrite out there, his comments had certainly put the slave trader in his place. Sheppard tried not to smirk, he really did, but the look of horror on Ashnael's face warmed his heart. Ashnael clearly wasn't used to being played, and he had just been played like a fiddle.

'I'm not sure I'm comfortable selling such an unruly slave –' the man protested in one final effort to hold onto the Satedan.

'Don't concern yourself with that, Ashnael. I absolve you of that responsibility. Will eight thousand tallots be acceptable?' Tranaedan asked.

Ashnael's eyes almost popped out of their sockets. Sheppard got the feeling that was a good price for a slave. Hadn't the magistra claimed to have paid five thousand for him, and that amount had stunned the Callaedin woman.

'I...I suppose I could...'

'I'll make it a round ten if you deliver him by sunrise,' Tranaedan told him, as if two thousand tallots was nothing more than small change to him.

'Very well. I'll have him there by morning,' Ashnael agreed. 'Now, if you don't mind, it's late, and I have arrangements to make before then. Back on the bed, Romaed.'

Ronon briefly looked Sheppard's way, and, seeing his surreptitious nod, did as Ashnael asked, allowing the man to cuff him to the bed again.

Though he would have been happier to take Ronon with them there and then, Sheppard suspected Ashnael's lust for money would prevent him from reneging on the deal. That and the unspoken threat that Sheppard himself would tell Tranaedan about the deal Ashnael had struck with his wife, if he should.

Ashnael walked them to the door in person, seeing them into their vessel, then returning and shutting his door on them before Sheppard could even set the ship in motion. They lifted off and wound their way steadily down the empty streets, Tranaedan now measurably calmer than he had been on their outward journey. They travelled in silence, but Sheppard sensed the man was waiting to say something. Eventually, the magister found his tongue.

'Thank you, Jadrael.'

Sheppard looked over his way. 'For what, Magister?'

'For your help this evening when you are clearly still unwell...and for alerting me to that slave, as well.'

Sheppard returned his gaze to the street, taking the next right turn. 'I thought it might be pertinent.'

'And it was. A good thing one of us kept a clear head.'

He went quiet again, then, contemplating the evening's events, no doubt. When he spoke up again, he surprised Sheppard with an apology. 'I'm sorry for my treatment of you last night, Jadrael,' he told him, unable to face him as he spoke. 'You did as I asked...rebuffed my wife's advances...and I punished you regardless of that. I was wrong.'

Though he wanted to tell him that, yes, he was wrong, and were the odds not so stacked against him he would have beaten the crap out of him by now, Sheppard took the nobler path. 'I accept your apology, Magister.'

From the corner of his eye, he saw the magister nod. 'It seems I have been putting my trust in all the wrong people, Jadrael. Well, no more. I will never assume loyalty in anyone, and I will never take my anger out on anyone unnecessarily again.'

Sheppard didn't believe a word of his promise, but he supposed the man might mean it, right here, right at this very moment.

As they turned down the street where the Tranaedan household sat and entered the gates, the magister activated the ramp down into the transport store, allowing them swift access. He jumped from the craft, then unexpectedly loaned Sheppard his arm to support him as he disembarked, something he'd failed to even consider earlier on their flight out.

'Don't worry about the craft, Jadrael. It will keep for now. Get yourself back to the recovery room and rest. You can clean it tomorrow if you're feeling up to it.'

He left him there then, and Sheppard waited, not wanting to walk to the elevator with him. Then, from the corner of his eye, he spotted something. Two body bags. One smaller than the other and so easily identifiable. So this was where they'd left the two dead slaves until they could deal with things properly in the morning. Swallowing hard, he felt another surge of remorse at Waelden's death. Though he hadn't caused it directly, the death of the sensory had been used as a way of getting rid of him...a servant loyal to Tranaedan who had probably crossed the magistra somehow.

But if Waelden was right and the magistra was with the sensory when he'd found her, what had she been up to visiting a man meant only to serve the magister?


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24 **

Waking suddenly, Rodney realised he'd fallen asleep at the desk in his room without even intending to. He'd spent so long working and worrying he'd worn himself out, but the sleep had not been in vain. He'd woken with an idea...or at least the germ of one.

He leapt out of bed and ran out of his door. 'Bathraen! Bathraen!'

The man wasn't anywhere to be seen, so Rodney jumped in the elevator and rode down to where his laboratory was, and as he suspected he found him there. The man was surrounded by piles of books and a number of computers, and for a moment Rodney saw the similarities between himself and this dysfunctional man. But the similarities ended in his obsessive work ethic, McKay convinced himself; he would never, never, do what Bathraen had done to the peoples of this planet.

'You said the government monitors all radio messages in the city, right?' he blustered, bursting into the room and disturbing Bathraen from his studies.

The man looked up, slipping off his reading glasses to see him more clearly. 'Er...yes. That's right.'

'So we need another way to communicate.'

Still looking puzzled, Bathraen nodded. 'Yes, but I don't know of one the government aren't likely to trace. They monitor everything I do.'

'Well, maybe there's one,' Rodney smirked, impressed by his own cleverness. 'The afflicted...you said the electromagnetism and the iron in their systems had an effect on them...that they could communicate with others by thought if they want to.'

Now, finally, Bathraen saw his point. 'That's right, but we cannot do the same to them. How do you intend to use that to your advantage?'

'We send a message to Teyla via the food trucks, asking her to get them to try to connect with any Atlantis rescue teams here on Haraendon. If I tell her where everyone is, she can get them to send a message to our people to tell them where they can find them.'

A spark glowed in Bathraen's eyes as he took in McKay's words, a realisation that the scientist had formulated a plan that might actually work.

'Of course, we still have to find a way of getting Teyla out of that enclosure so she can be rescued, too,' McKay mused. 'I'm thinking if we can get her out and beyond that black line surrounding the walls, our ships should be able to pick her up, right? I take it that does denote the area affected by the magnetism. When Ashnael picked us up he stopped near it and his craft still worked.'

Bathraen nodded, but then a thought struck him and Rodney saw his expression change. He'd clearly thought of another problem. That was okay, one of them needed to be the cynic. 'She must not travel too far outside the circle; the beasts that inhabit the lands between the cities will surely hunt her down.'

'Okay...that could be a problem, but if she doesn't stray too far from the line, would she be okay? I'm thinking the field keeps them at bay, huh?'

The physician closed his eyes while he considered his question. 'Perhaps. The electromagnetics do have an effect on animals. I've noticed that in experiments I have conducted.'

'Well, it has to be worth a try!' Rodney squeaked, feeling excited for the first time in days. Much as he'd been sceptical about the whole 'telepathy' thing when Bathraen had first mentioned it, what Sheppard had told him the other day about a voice leading him toward Traginta Duo told him there might be some truth to it. If they could pull this off they had a way of communicating with their people that the government wouldn't be able to pick up on. 'We'll warn her about the man-eating animals, then she can make the choice whether or not to leave the enclosure. But if I know Teyla, she won't let a little thing like that put her off.'

'So how do you plan to get her out of the enclosure?'

'Okay...I confess that's not really my area of expertise,' McKay admitted, 'but we need some way to get through those walls...or under them...or over them.'

'You haven't really thought that part through yet, have you?' Bathraen asked, his brow wrinkling.

'No...not really. Sheppard was always the explosives expert in our team, but I'm thinking some kind of channelled explosion would be the way to go.'

Bathraen nodded, though his expression clearly showed his doubt. 'That could work, but it might also bring the walls crashing down on top of them if placed incorrectly. I do, however, have a possible alternative. You write down the message you would like to send to Teyla, and I'll work on a way through that wall.'

The physician darted away, heading through an archway into an annex off the main room. Rodney could hear him up to something, but since he was too busy frantically scribbling down everything he thought Teyla needed to know and communicate to her afflicted companions, he didn't have time to investigate. He just had to trust the man knew what he was doing.

oooOOOooo

The next morning, Sheppard was woken by Raelzine with another pill for him to take. She watched him closely as he sat up and swallowed it, so as he handed the glass back to her, he asked, 'Something on your mind?'

'I was just wondering where you got to yesterday on your walk,' she told him, tipping away what water he didn't drink into the sink.

'Any particular reason you're asking?'

She turned to face him, wiping her hands dry on her apron. 'Yesterday was very eventful...two people are dead...'

'I know,' he replied, giving nothing away. 'Do you know what part the magistra played in it all?'

'I was wondering more about what part you played in it,' Raelzine confessed. 'A man I knew well, a man who was as loyal to Tranaedan as any man can be, is dead, accused of some kind of betrayal against the household.'

'I had nothing to do with that, Raelzine, I promise you,' he answered, holding her gaze sincerely. 'I think he was set up by the magistra. Tranaedan says Waelden told him he saw the magistra entering that secret room. The best way of covering up whatever she was up to is getting rid of him, right?'

'And what about the sensory...are you saying she killed him?'

'Whatever happened to the sensory – it was for the best, Raelzine.'

She nodded. 'After what I saw last night, I'd have to agree. The creature was diseased through and through...and to think of it shut down there and suffering all those years.'

'Him, Raelzine,' Sheppard corrected. 'And he wasn't a creature, he was a man.'

'But the colour of him!'

He gave her a patient smile. 'That doesn't change what someone's like on the inside.'

Looking a little embarrassed, she nodded. 'I suppose you're right. But the thought of what his type can do, seeing things that haven't happened yet, well, it's not natural.'

Sheppard had to concede that point. 'Okay, I'll admit that's a little weird, but he was one of the afflicted, right? The ones that live out in the Forbidden Zones. There's something going on out there that must affect them. You can't hold it against them. They're victims of circumstances beyond their control.'

She smiled at him then, patting the back of his hand. 'You have such a refreshing way of looking at things, Jadrael. I've never thought of it like that, but I suppose you're right. Now, are you feeling up to a trip up to the kitchen? Everyone else has already breakfasted, so there would be no fuss.'

'Sure. Why not?' He slowly swung his legs round and slid carefully off the bed. Movement was a little easier this morning. He was beginning to feel more like his old self again, although he didn't think he would be managing a 10k run any time soon.

He even managed the stairs up to the next floor where the kitchen was situated, though it made him wince a few times.

Just as Raelzine had told him, the kitchen was quiet, a pile of dishes waiting to be washed, but no one else in sight. Sheppard eased into a chair at the table and Raelzine piled his plate high with various substantial looking items of foods, full of carbohydrates and fats obviously intended to make up for the lack of intake he'd suffered the previous day. Not that he minded; he was starving and it all smelled good.

'So, I'm guessing Vandaer is feeling a little exposed this morning without his partner in crime,' he commented as he chewed on some kind of salty meat.

'He is somewhat subdued, but I think it's rather down to the fact he and Waelden had always assumed themselves above such vicious treatment, because they were in the magister's inner circle of slaves. This just goes to show no one's safe,' she huffed, filling the sink with water to prepare to clean the breakfast platters.

'Never imagined I was,' Sheppard confessed, jumping a little as he heard someone enter the room behind him.

It was Lanae, and she was leading a very welcome and familiar figure with her. 'Raelzine, Jadrael – this is Romaed. He's here to replace Waelden.'

Sheppard pushed up slowly, so Raelzine was quicker to reach Ronon that he was. 'He didn't waste any time,' she muttered as she passed the colonel, but then she reached out and took Ronon's hand warmly between both of hers. 'You come to us in troubled times, Romaed, but you are most welcome. Have you breakfasted before coming here?'

'Nah. My owner figured I could get something with my new owners,' he rumbled, a smile lighting his eyes as he now looked Sheppard's way.

'Yeah, Ashnael's tight like that. He did the same thing to me when he sold me,' Sheppard lied.

'Well, sit yourself down and I'll get you something...though I think I'll have to cook up more generous portions looking at the size of you.'

'He can share some of mine,' the colonel offered, giving Ronon the best grin he could manage with his bruised jaw, while shaking his hand.

'You'll do no such thing!' Raelzine ordered. 'I gave you that food to build up your strength, so you'll stay there until it's eaten.'

'Yes, Ma'am,' he promised, sitting back down as Ronon twitched his eyebrows in acknowledgement of his amusement.

Here in the full light of the kitchen, Sheppard could see the extent of Ronon's injuries that weren't hidden by his clothing. He'd taken quite a battering, but he supposed he didn't look much better himself.

'So...Romaed...looks like you got yourself into a scuffle,' he quipped, figuring it would only be natural to broach the subject if they were virtual strangers.

'Ashnael didn't like the way I did things,' Ronon shrugged casually, picking a piece of bread up off Sheppard's plate and pushing it in his mouth in one go. 'What about you?'

'Magister Tranaedan doesn't like the way I do things either, so I guess that's something we have in common.'

Ronon grinned at him as he chewed, thanking Raelzine as she planted a plate of food in front of him. Tutting, she snatched a piece of bread from his plate and threw it on to Sheppard's. 'I swear you'd rather give my food to any passing stranger than eat it yourself. Do you have something against my cooking, Jadrael?'

'No, not at all. And we're not strangers; we met at Ashnael's house. Romaed here was brought in injured, so when he sold the rest of us off, he had to stay behind.'

Raelzine paused in her fussing at the table, her eyes on his. He saw a flicker of a question there, but she didn't voice it, not in front of Lanae, who was also helping to prepare food for Ronon now.

'Well, I hope you're feeling well now, because the magister will expect you to work hard for him. There is much labour to be done as well as whatever guardian duties he might have lined up for you.'

'No problem. I'm good,' he told her, and she patted his shoulder before going about her own work.

With the two women still in close proximity, it was difficult for them to talk, but Ronon leaned forward and whispered, 'So, just how much trouble are we in?'

'Oh, you know...the usual,' Sheppard shrugged. 'But I saw Rodney yesterday and he's okay...and so's Teyla...for the time being.'

Lanae crossed to the table and placed a glass of water in front of each of them, making them pause their conversation until she backed away again.

'So...what's the plan?'

'Not sure yet,' Sheppard confessed, 'but apparently I'm gonna have a chance at getting out of here soon, and if that's right, you're coming with me.'

Ronon was about to ask him another question when Sheppard heard the door open behind him again. Raelzine and Lanae immediately curtsied and Sheppard knew that had to mean one of their owners had walked into the room. When he checked over his shoulder, he wasn't too happy to see it was the magistra.

He got out of his seat, whispering to Ronon to do as he did. He got down on one knee, glancing up at the big man, seeing his disbelieving expression. 'Do it,' he ordered from the corner of his mouth, knowing if Ronon's body ached half as much as his did, he wouldn't want the punishment she was likely to hand out.

With a petulant huff, Ronon walked around the table and knelt beside him, giving him an unimpressed glare. Sheppard didn't care; he could put up with one of Ronon's bad moods if it meant he didn't have to watch him get stuck with that damned cattle prod.

The magistra's jewelled red shoes arrived in front of them both. 'My husband told me he'd purchased a new slave, but I wasn't expecting anything quite like you.'

Sheppard didn't like the way she said that. Although he wouldn't mind her shifting her attentions from him, flirting with Ronon really wasn't an option as far as he was concerned. He was responsible for the man's welfare; hell, more than that, the guy was like a brother to him. He wouldn't let Magistra Tranaedan dig her claws into him and bring the wrath of the magister his way.

'What's your name?'

'Romaed,' Ronon dutifully answered.

'Welcome to my home, Romaed. I'm sure you'll do well. Stand up both of you.'

As they both rose to their feet, Sheppard watched her reaction to Ronon's sheer height. Not that she wasn't used to tall men, but Ronon even overshadowed the magister's considerable stature.

'My, I can see why he purchased you. If you hire a bodyguard, at least make sure he's big enough to guard your whole body,' she smirked. Then she looked down to his wrists, which had been relieved of their former cuffs. 'I see we need to remedy your lack of ownership bracelets. Raelzine, could you and Lanae show Romaed to the magister and point out his omission? I imagine he'll want to add an identity chip, too, some time soon.'

The two women obeyed, moving forward to collect Ronon and show him the way to the magister's office. And that left Sheppard on his own with her.

'Don't let me stop you eating,' she told him, strolling around the table and taking up the vacant seat Ronon had left opposite him.

He sat down warily, keeping his eyes on her. After last night, he was more aware than ever of what this woman was capable of if crossed, and now he had the feeling she was about to step the game up a gear.

'So, last night I went to visit the sensory and found him dead. You can imagine my surprise...I thought he had some time left in him yet.'

Her eyes, the bluest eyes he'd ever seen, burned into him, his head aching with the intensity of returning the gaze. He chose to ignore the inference and instead said, 'I thought you told the magister that Waelden was lying when he saw you heading in to see him.'

The woman merely arched an eyebrow, unimpressed. 'Are we really going to pretend like this?'

'Not sure,' he fired back. 'I thought you liked playing games.'

His head felt weird, as if his brain was pulsing. It felt almost the same as when he'd passed out near the afflicteds' enclosure when they'd first arrived there.

'You killed him. How did you know about him?'

'I have no idea what you're talking about,' he replied evenly.

'I know you do, so answer me.'

That odd sensation in his head grew stronger, as if someone was kneading his brain, knuckles pressing hard into his grey matter and leaving his cells turning to mush. Was the sensory still trying to reach him from...wherever it was sensories went when they died? He'd said the magistra was dangerous. Perhaps he was trying to warn him again. If he was, he just wished he'd give up because it hurt. Sheppard closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose to try to ease the aching sensation spreading across his forehead.

'That new slave. You know him, don't you?' she asked, changing tack.

He peered at her while still nursing his mounting migraine. 'We met at Ashnael's.'

'Met or was that just the last place you saw one another?'

The fact she was so accurate with her assessment once again had him worried. He really didn't want her to know that Ronon was one of his team, especially now he knew what she really wanted him for. Ronon could supply her with the service she required just as he could; his supposed previous slavery was his only protection from her intent.

'Met,' he insisted, feeling another stab of pain as if someone was digging around with a pick inside his head. It reminded him of...of how he'd felt when Wraith queens had tried to extract information from him. Was that was she was doing? But she couldn't be Wraith; the government's probes would have detected her long ago if she were.

'You're lying,' she hissed. 'You're lying about him and about what happened to the sensory. And you're hiding something from me. How did you know about the sensory?'

'I told you, I have no idea what you're talking about. Now, if you're feeling guilty about what happened to Waelden, then that's your problem. Don't go trying to pin this on –'

White light flashed in his vision, and when he became aware of where he was again, he was on his back on the kitchen floor with the magistra staring down at him. And she was seriously pissed.

'I have something else to do right now, but this conversation isn't over, _Jadrael. _So you think about this, and whether it's worth the trouble of lying to me again. If you continue to do so, what happened to Waelden, could happen to you.'

She strode away then; he could hear her dress sweeping the floor as she left. But somewhere before the door she stopped and said, 'By the way, the magister and I are dining with the Callaedins tonight. Your services are required, so you'd better find out which craft he requires and make sure he can see his face in it by then.'

The Callaedins? That wasn't exactly the best news he'd had recently. So, his respite was over already, he realised as he listened to her footsteps echoing away from him. When he was sure she'd gone he pushed up, his brain taking a few moments to catch up with his change in position. A warm trickle ran down his upper lip, and when he caught it with the back of his hand, he realised he was bleeding. His head throbbed as if he'd been punched repeatedly, and his hearing buzzed, in fact, his head felt worse than it had after falling down the stairs the other night.

He pushed up and staggered back into his seat, clutching his head in his hands. What the hell had happened to him? Was this some kind of delayed concussion or an after effect of his contacts with the sensory?

Or maybe it was something else...

He stared at the open doorway, running what had just happened over in his mind. The sensory had warned him that the magistra 'knew much', and something in that warning reminded him of a conversation he'd had with Raelzine about the afflicted, when she's told him they 'knew things they had no right knowing'. And the sensory had talked about her taking information, and yes, now that he thought about it, he had felt as if his mind was being raided. And the other times, when she'd come onto him, and he'd know he should tell her where to go, but just couldn't...

The most sickening thought, though, was that he wasn't the only one to have felt that compulsion, Manstaen and perhaps Faraenal before him had succumbed to the suggestion that she was worth the risk. The magistra had lured them to their deaths, and that was why the sensory had warned him to stay away from her until the event that led to his escape. If he didn't, the chances were he would die before the opportunity arose.

oooOOOooo

When Sheppard made his way down to the hangar, Tranaedan was there acting giddy as a schoolboy. Several of the craft had been moved, making a small space in the middle of the room.

The magister was checking his timepiece as the door pulled back, and he actually smiled at Sheppard, a genuine smile that truly gave him the creeps.

'Ah, Jadrael. I wasn't sure you would be up yet, but as you are, you can help me move the transports. You move those three back towards the outer walls and I'll wake Faraenal to move this one.

Sheppard still couldn't move quite quick enough to avoid hearing Faraenal's screech as he awoke, if that was what you could call it. He cringed and climbed into one of the craft Tranaedan had signalled, closing the hatch behind him to deaden the noise. It still left a heavy feeling in his chest, and the wish he had the guts to end the poor guy's misery. Maybe one day he would escape and then find a way to come back here and do that. He hoped so.

Trying to shut out the pilot's continuing torment, Sheppard moved on to the second craft and thankfully, by the time he was shifting the third ship into its new position, Faraenal was quiet again. It was beyond understanding how Tranaedan could keep the man that way. How long could he stay angry at the guy...a probable innocent dupe? It was wrong, and he wondered how the magistra would feel if she knew...but then he realised she probably did. She seemed to know most other things going on inside that house.

Once all the craft were set down exactly where Tranaedan showed him, a substantial area was left empty at the centre of them all.

'It should be here any time,' the man fairly gushed as Sheppard took time to rest, even that small effort a little draining still. 'I received news of it yesterday, and I insisted my supplier bring it over as soon as possible. I'm not sure we'll be able to fly it – apparently, it's deactivated in some way – but the thought of owning something so unique was too captivating to resist.

The communicator on the wall near the door flashed and bleeped, catching their attention. Sheppard was surprised that the man didn't ask him to answer it, but the magister seemed so genuinely excited he clean forgot he had someone there who could do that for him.

'Yes?' he barked into it. 'Right. I'm opening the ramp now. Tell them to bring it in.'

The wall dropped and the metal cover drew back, opening the hangar to the outside world. A mechanical sound, something like hydraulics, hummed somewhere nearby, and then the light streaming in through the opening was blocked as a crate was lowered by crane into the room and set down on the floor at the foot of the opening. Once it was down, the hook straightened, leaving the crate behind in the hangar as the crane withdrew. Then a man Sheppard had never seen before strode down the ramp. He checked the clearance all around the crate, quietly assuring himself that he had the room he needed for the next part of the process. Then, using strategically positioned holes in one side of the crate, he climbed on top of the metal box and activated some kind of release lever before climbing back down again. A few seconds later he was back on the floor, the sound of several metal bolts shooting back echoed out, and the sides of the box lowered themselves gracefully down.

As the ship within was revealed, Sheppard's heart simultaneously soared and skipped. It was a puddle jumper, a ship he really had a chance of escaping in...but if it was here, and it quite clearly wasn't the one he'd crashed out beyond the city, that meant another Atlantis team had most likely fallen prey to the slave traders of the Centum Civis.

'It's marvellous,' Tranaedan gasped, walking up to it and sliding his hand over its smooth surface. Look at these lines. I wonder how it's powered?'

Sheppard stayed well away from it as his owner mounted the craft via the rear hatch and poked around inside it. His normally inert sense of possessiveness was instantly triggered as the man sat down in the pilot seat, a seat he'd occupied so many times himself, jabbing away at various controls, but getting no response.

Eventually, the bulky man with the blue chin who had brought the craft called in to Tranaedan through the opening. 'So, are you happy with the ship, Magister Tranaedan?'

'Yes...yes, very. Bill me in the normal way and I'll see you get paid quickly.'

He strolled back out of the jumper, and then over to a control panel on the wall. It worked the crane suspended from the ceiling of the hangar, one very similar to the one Sheppard had seen in his dream about Manstaen. It sent a chill right through him. The crane was hooked through a large metal disk, what Sheppard guessed was a magnet, and Tranaedan manoeuvred it out over the jumper. Then he lowered it down onto the jumper's roof and activated, it lifting the ship out of the flattened crate and into the space they'd cleared for it.

'The pride of my collection should have the pride of place, don't you think?' Tranaedan asked him, his eyes glinting with excitement.

'Yes, Magister,' Sheppard agreed.

The jumper sat silent before him, its engine pods and weapons retracted like a turtle would draw in its head and limbs for protection if pounced on by predators. He could almost feel it calling to him, begging him to animate it and set it free. Oh man, was he ever losing it big time!

"Guts" strolled Tranaedan's way and performed the same kind of ritual shoulder grabbing and head dipping that Sheppard had witnessed in Ashnael's house and now realised must be their way of sealing a deal. Then he headed back up the ramp while the crane arm came in and reclaimed their crate, taking it out after him.

Tranaedan closed the ramp and then stood back, admiring his latest acquisition. 'What a mysterious machine. Look at these markings, Jadrael. Have you ever seen anything like them before?'

Sheppard deliberately kept his distance. 'No. Never, Magister.'

'I wonder if I can hire a linguist to decipher them.'

'Unless they're just a pattern,' Sheppard suggested.

'Unless, that, yes. But it wouldn't hurt to try. Come on board and take a look.'

Concentrating hard on willing the jumper to play dead like a loyal and well-trained mutt, Sheppard cautiously ambled aboard and examined the interior as if seeing it for the first time. There was carbon scoring and damage to the controls and seats, so clearly whatever team had been aboard hadn't given it up quietly. 'Nice...but a little bland compared to your other craft, Magister.'

The magister planted his hands on his hips and turned full circle, looking around at it. 'I don't know. I see a certain beauty in its simplicity. In Traginta Duo, we tend to lean towards flamboyance. This...this is sheer sophistication. I think I'll have someone from the transport repair shop come take a look at it. They might be able to carry out some repairs and figure out a way to make this wonderful machine power up for us. Then we'll really see what she can do.'

_Oh, you don't know the half of it, _Sheppard thought.

'But all this talk isn't getting anything done. We're taking this craft tonight,' he told Sheppard, pointing out a sleek silver and blue number they hadn't used yet. 'Do what you feel able to do to clean it up, and I'll spare Romaed to help you where I can.'

He slapped Sheppard on the shoulder, his thick, heavy hand sending a jolt of pain through his bruised body. Once alone, Sheppard headed back into the jumper again, firing it up. Sparks flew out from the damaged panels, and when he reached in to activate the radio, something blew, sending up a veritable Roman candle of embers. But of course it wasn't going to be that easy. When had anything been easy on this planet? At least the engines were running. If they were running, it was a potential means for escape. So he decided to see what else he had. The HUD activated, though it jumped and scrolled at times, making it difficult to interpret. He asked for weapons, and the drone pods extended. Now that was more like it. But when he asked for shields, he got nothing in response. He shut it down before anyone could see him operating it, certain that this was the opportunity the sensory had spoken of, but not able to leave without Ronon.

His mind once again wandered to what had become of the team that had been manning this ship, a team that had no doubt been searching for him and his friends and had now fallen victim to this corrupt and greedy race of people themselves. He swore then that he would get out of this place, just as the sensory had said he would, and find them. Then, as soon as he got the chance, he would come back to this place and teach the Tranaedans a thing or two about humility.


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter 25 **

When evening rolled around, Sheppard was ready for his piloting duties. He'd spent the day polishing the craft Magister Tranaedan had indicated, intermittently helped by Ronon when his duties didn't take him elsewhere. That had given them a chance to talk about everything Sheppard had found out about the planet and the difficulty they would face getting out, along with the difficulties Atlantis rescue teams would have getting in. After that, he'd told him all he could about the Tranaedans, including the magister's psychotic jealousy and his theory that the magistra could read minds like a Wraith queen, hence the smart thing to do being to stay away from both of them as much as was possible. Then finally, he'd updated him on everything he knew about Teyla and Rodney and...well, about the fact Ronon needed to stay near Sheppard because some mystical red-eyed man had told him he would be able to escape soon. Ronon had just arched an eyebrow at Sheppard's explanation, then shrugged and said, 'Whatever.' The colonel assumed that meant he was on board with the plan.

It helped that Ronon was to come along when Sheppard flew the couple to dinner tonight. Tranaedan was apparently feeling extremely vulnerable without his sensory to tell him what might happen to him, and meant to take no chances. If someone was going to attack them as they travelled, he wanted Ronon there to defend him.

Sheppard had washed, shaved and changed his clothes, and other than the bruises was looking pretty sharp, thanks to the constant soothing effects of his medication. Without them, he doubted he would look quite the picture of respectability he did right now. Ronon, too, had tidied himself up, tying back his dreadlocks and donning some clothes the magister himself had discarded and Raelzine had kept to alter to make garments for the male slaves. She'd done an admirable job of adjusting them to Ronon's slimmer build, and although they came up a little short in the limbs, she'd extended the sleeves and legs with matching fabrics so that he still looked smart enough to be seen in public.

They waited at the designated ship for their owners to show up, the magister arriving first in a smart suit with a heavy black overcoat thrown on top, and then a few minutes later his wife arrived, wearing a vibrant blue dress that set off the colour of her piercing eyes. The look she gave Sheppard on her approach could have withered a tree, so he figured he wasn't forgiven for not answering her questions yet. He jumped aboard and offered her his hand to assist her, but she was having none of it, insisting Ronon do so because Sheppard wasn't strong enough to help her safely yet. Though she'd clearly intended it as a slight, he refused to be riled by her and instead got the craft ready for the flight.

Tranaedan sat up front with him, while the magistra seated herself behind them with Ronon, making small talk. Sheppard kept himself tuned into the conversation, listening to the various questions about his friend's previous owners and position, all of which Ronon answered in his usual monosyllabic way. Sometimes, being naturally uncommunicative could definitely be a plus, and although it seemed Ashnael had primed him well for his transfer to the Tranaedan household, his lack of verbosity made it all the more believable to his ear.

The journey to Traginta, where the Callaedin's resided was plotted into the navigation system via an information disc provided by the magister. Now that Sheppard knew Magister Callaedin was a government official it made sense that the Tranaedan's appeared to gain permission to travel almost freely between the cities. Having an inside contact in your pocket had to make getting the appropriate permissions a whole hell of a lot easier.

At Traginta's gates, Ronon experienced his first conscious transition through the three gates from the lands between. When the facilitators offered him the goggles and mask, he at first looked at them as if he might punch them before trusting them, but a nudge from Sheppard told him he should do as they asked, and he was no doubt glad he had by the end of the entire buffeting process.

Tranaedan guided Sheppard the rest of the way from the gates to the Callaedin property, a huge house with a magnificent metallic facade that rivalled that of the Tranaedan household itself. Tranaedan communicated with the staff inside the household, and the gates protecting the property retracted to grant them access to the frontage. Sheppard steered them in and set them down at the foot of the large stone steps leading up to the now open doors, where two servants had already appeared to greet them.

By the time Sheppard had also disembarked – carefully to avoid exacerbating his injuries – the Callaedin's themselves had assembled on the top step.

'Well, Alathael, you have another new slave!' the other magistra gushed, tripping lightly down the steps to take a closer look at Ronon. 'Another fine looking beast he is, too. Where do you keep finding them?'

Ronon's expression was a picture, and Sheppard struggled not to laugh. The man had a way of remaining completely emotionless that could crack him up under the right circumstances.

The magistra's attention shifted to him, and he immediately forced the smirk off his face. 'They both look a little the worse for wear, though. Have you two been fighting?'

'Certainly not,' Tranaedan scoffed, slapping a hand down on Ronon's shoulder. 'This one arrived in this condition. We only acquired him today. And Jadrael,' the man looked at him, the first time he'd really met his eye since their encounter. 'Jadrael slipped on the stairs, but I'm sure he's learned to be more careful so it doesn't happen again.'

'Awww, clumsy,' Magistra Callaedin laughed, chucking him under the chin. 'Though it makes him all the more endearing somehow.'

Ronon raised one quizzical eyebrow behind her, but Sheppard couldn't react. He had to show respect, at least while everyone's attention was on him.

'Well, these two can wait in the kitchen for you. I'm sure my people can keep them out of any further trouble,' Magister Callaedin offered, taking Sheppard's arm and steering him toward the steps.

'I think one of them should stay with the craft,' Magistra Tranaedan interrupted, just as her husband was about to lock things up. 'This isn't meant to be a night out for Romaed, after all. He can watch the craft and the door from out here to ensure our safety.'

'We could both stay with the craft, Magister,' Sheppard quickly suggested, wondering whether this was the opportunity he was supposed to seize. With so little detail forthcoming from the sensory, he'd been analysing every passing moment all day, wondering if he was missing something vital. This, however, seemed like a huge flag waving "Come and get me!".

'I don't think that's a good idea,' the magistra once again intervened, shooting a sharp look her husband's way. You two have been fraternising most of the day. Friendship isn't something we encourage.'

'Absolutely not!' Magister Callaedin agreed. 'Slave's should be working, not chattering. Next thing they'll be wanting time off.'

They all snuffled out an annoyingly patronising peel of laughter while Sheppard prayed to whatever powers were up there that Ronon didn't lose it right now. Though he saw a dangerous flash of anger momentarily light his friend's eyes, the Satedan kept a lid on it, the slight flare of his nostrils and the thin line of his lips the only clues to his simmering ire.

'Very well. Romaed, you stay out here with the craft and watch this doorway. Jadrael, you go inside and stay out of the way until we're ready to go home,' Tranaedan ordered, following their hosts inside. 'The cold is probably too much for you at the moment, anyway.'

The two Callaedin slaves, immaculately dressed as was probably required of them when entertaining guests, remained in the doorway a little longer once the guests had gone inside. The older of the two, a silver haired man, took charge of the situation. 'Malaeda, take the pilot inside to the kitchen and then get this young man,' he said, dipping his head in Ronon's direction, 'the biggest outdoor cloak we have and warm meal and drink. You may shelter under the awning where the air is less crisp. The heating runs through the walls and you should feel the benefit there.'

'Thanks,' Ronon grunted, and the man, who had already turned away, stopped and looked back at him as if he'd never received such gratitude before.

'You're very welcome,' he replied, then gestured for the woman with him to show Sheppard the way into the house.

oooOOOooo

Sheppard estimated that at least a couple of hours had passed as he stretched his arms out, enjoying the warmth emanating from the ovens while the kitchen staff rushed to complete the final course. A kindly young woman had slipped him a few pieces of food, even though he knew food like this would be in limited supply for slaves like her. He thanked her and hoped once again that Ronon was doing okay out in the cold. But Ronon was tough, seven years on the run from the Wraith in all kinds of terrain had made him that way. No doubt he'd be okay out there even if the party went on for another couple of hours yet. If he was still there, of course. That thought awoke a twinge of panic in his stomach. He'd only just rescued his friend from Ashnael. What if he'd decided he couldn't hack being a slave to anyone else either, and had bolted over the gates? The man was fit and agile. If anyone could climb those gates, Ronon could.

A couple of serving staff bustled in then, carrying trays full of dishes that they set down near the sink for cleaning later, no doubt when their demanding guests had gone home. There were also some leftovers, and the two women snatched up small portions before heading back out with steaming pots of this planet's equivalent of coffee, he supposed. It smelled good, and he hoped he might be able to snatch a cup before heading home. Home? What the hell was he saying? That place was a prison...he couldn't allow himself to start feeling comfortable in his role.

'I hope my staff have been looking after you.'

The skin the full length of Sheppard's spine prickled at those words. He peered over his shoulder to find Magistra Callaedin sauntering into the kitchen, sucking dessert from a spoon. She smiled coquettishly, pulling off a convincing Jessica Rabbit walk in her figure-hugging green number and making his stomach do a full somersault. He really needed to find an excuse to leave the room...now.

Even as he thought that, he felt his left cuff attach itself to the tabletop, which meant he was going nowhere. Maybe she could read minds, too, although he suspected something about his expression might have told her he was about to run.

He watched warily as the woman passed him, heading over to where the remainders of their dessert course sat. She found herself a clean bowl and helped herself to a serving, spooning a little into her mouth as she wandered his way again.

'There's been a lot of talk this evening about what a fine pilot you are,' she told him, pulling out the seat beside his. 'Magister Tranaedan seems very impressed with you, and, believe me, he isn't easily pleased.'

Sheppard shrugged. 'It's a gift.'

'Yes, I suppose it is.' She sucked on her spoon again, her eyes smouldering. He looked away, out of the window at the dark sky that rippled with the power of the shield, the very thing that held him in that city for people like this to plague and torment.

'Would you like some?'

He glanced at her, seeing the offered spoon of something that smelled like melted chocolate. 'Uh, no...thanks.'

She shrugged and sucked on the spoon herself again, apparently indifferent to his refusal. 'Looks to me as if your owners don't know quite how to take care of their pilot. We both know you didn't fall down any stairs, don't we?'

'Actually, I did,' he replied, because it was pretty much the truth.

'It wasn't the stairs part I was questioning, more the_ fall_.'

So, this woman was sharper than he'd given her credit for. He could see from her expression that she knew his fall hadn't been accidental. There was no point in denying it, so he didn't reply.

The magistra set her bowl down for a moment, and edged her seat a little closer to whisper to him, 'If you were my pilot, you'd never fall down any stairs,' she whispered hoarsely, her grin developing into something far more wanton now. 'I wouldn't let you out of my bed for long enough.'

He raised his eyebrows, then threw her a cocky smile as he replied, 'But I'm not your pilot, am I? I belong to your friends, the Tranaedans.'

'Who clearly don't know how to treat you. I would be far nicer.'

He stopped smiling as her hand slid up his trapped arm to his shoulder, her finger stroking at his earlobe. 'I think you and I have very different ideas of what "nice" means,' he told her, leaning away.

The sensation of her other hand running across his stomach made him hiss, especially when she hitched up his jacket and vest and ran her fingernails across his recently stitched lacerations. 'And I suppose you got these cuts from those razor sharp steps you servants use?'

He tensed as she pulled his garments up at the back as well, aggravating his wounds with the fabric as it dragged across them, then more so by stroking at his bruised skin and raw welts.

'Strange. This one looks just like a belt buckle,' she muttered, following the line of the injury with her fingertip.

He twitched and flinched, but the cuff prevented him from moving away. All he could do was glare and growl, 'Weird. I wonder how that happened.'

She pulled away, letting his clothes fall back in place and picking up her bowl of dessert, scooping some up on her finger. 'Are you sure I can't tempt you?' she asked, holding it out toward him.

'Very sure,' he said to that question, and the insinuation accompanying it.

She tried to force him to take it, and when he refused to open his mouth, she trapped his second wrist to the table and smeared the dessert on his lips and down his neck from behind his ear down to his collar instead. Then, she leaned in and began to lick it away, slowly, deliberately, trying to evoke a positive reaction from him. All she succeeded in doing was make herself even more repulsive in his eyes, and again he found himself silently swearing that one day soon he would make people like her pay for treating him this way.

She hitched up her skirt and climbed up on the tabletop, facing him while lying flat on her stomach as she daubed him with more of the sticky sweet. 'Are you absolutely sure?' she whispered against his lips, before ridding him of more of the chocolate. He didn't answer this time. He didn't need to, certain she could work out his feelings from the stiffness of his body language and the lack of his response. 'You know, my husband would be very jealous if he saw me doing this,' she smirked, curling her legs up behind her, ankles crossed, and swinging them back and forth.

'Then maybe you should stop...Magistra,' he mumbled out through clenched teeth as her tongue now worked its way up his neck.

'Stop? I think you mean wait,' she giggled, pulling back and fixing him with a playful stare. 'He hates it when I start without him.'

Sheppard knew his expression would show just how he felt about that idea, and he didn't care. If she was offended she could just suck it up...though he was glad he hadn't voiced that particular thought out loud.

'You see, the sickness that ails our people might be a blight to some, but to us it simply means no consequences. My husband would never beat you for your dalliances with me, nor vice versa. We're bored with being sensible and proper. What's wrong with us having a little fun?'

'Nothing, as long as both parties feel the same way,' he growled as she began nibbling away at his neck again.'

'Both parties do,' she said into his ear, gently licking behind it. 'I've already asked him.'

'I wasn't referring to your husband,' he pointed out, helping her past her utter selfishness. 'He isn't here.'

She pulled back again, looking somewhat bewildered. 'You mean you? But you're a slave. Your role is to serve. Your feelings don't matter.'

Okay, he supposed they really didn't matter to someone like her. But surely he could think of something would put a stop to all this. 'And like I said before, I'm not _your_ slave. I don't think your friend, Magistra Tranaedan, would be too happy to know you were helping yourself to her property like this.'

'She didn't mind the other night.'

'That's because she thought I deserved punishment the other night. I don't think punishment is quite what you have in mind right now.'

She sat back again with a sigh and a pout, her good mood apparently spoiled by his chatter. 'You talk too much, boy. Has anyone ever told you that?'

She slipped back off the table and wandered over to the other side of the kitchen. 'Well, even if you don't want to come live with us voluntarily, maybe we should just take you,' she said, toying with a frighteningly sharp looking knife lying amidst various scraps of fruit on the chopping block one of her kitchen staff had been working at. 'Isn't that how you came to be with the Tranaedans anyway? Wasn't you previous home sacked and your owners killed?'

For a moment or two he thought she was joking, but then he realised she wasn't smiling any more, not even a slightly teasing smirk.

'My husband is a very powerful man. And he adores me. One word and he does whatever I wish. If I tell him I want you, he'll get you for me.'

She sauntered his way, the knife still in her hand.

'Any hired thug would be willing to slit throats for a few thousand tallots.' She pressed the knife flat against his throat, but he forced himself not to flinch or show any signs of the nerves now raging inside him. Without the cuffs, he could probably take her, but as things were, he had to hope she still harboured some mercy in that cruel, lust-filled heart of hers. This woman was every bit as crazy as the magister. Had everyone in this city lost their minds when the sickness struck?

'Two quick cuts,' she drew the blade across just millimetres from his skin, miming the murderous act, 'is all it would take, and you'd be mine. And I know my husband would do it. He's always had a thing for dark hair.'

She grinned then, and returned the knife to where she'd got it from, jabbing it into the board. Then she walked away, releasing his cuffs just as she reached the door and left. Sheppard proceeded to wipe the sticky remnants of chocolate and saliva from his skin. He felt...dirty, in more than one sense of the word. How the hell did the people working in this place put up with their owners' crap every day of their lives? The knife wobbled temptingly in the wooden board where she'd stabbed it. He could grab that and cut her throat before she reached the others, and he was sorely tempted to do it, but to what advantage? He'd be dead before he could get out of the place, and Ronon would probably be killed trying to help him.

He took a deep breath, wondering what he should do. This couldn't be what the sensory was talking about, could it? He didn't want to fall into the hands of the Callaedins; that would be even worse than the Tranaedans. And he couldn't see how that would help the plight of the slaves or the afflicted. Changing households couldn't be his way out...but the sensory had said something would happen soon and he had to seize the opportunity. If only the old man had trusted him to withstand the magistra's mind probing and given him more details. Instead, he had him second guessing his own instincts, something he never normally did. Well no...no more. The sensory was gone. He had to get himself and his friends out of this city without his guidance, so he would follow his heart from now on...and falling into Callaedin hands was definitely a big no as far as he was concerned. He was pinning his hopes on the jumper back at the Tranaedan house. That had to be his key to freedom.

He hoped that was the right decision to make...

...and now he was second guessing himself again. Dammit!


	26. Chapter 26

**A/N: Thanks again to those of you sticking with the story. I hope I can keep you all reading until the end. :)**

When it was time to take the Tranaedans home, Sheppard was shown the way back to his craft by Malaed. He found the Tranaedans already there waiting for him, the magistra deep in conversation with Ronon...well, as deep in conversation as anyone ever got with the Satedan, that was. Basically, she talked a lot, giggled and flirted, too, and Ronon grunted monosyllabic replies. But, if Sheppard wasn't mistaken, there was a different kind of glint in his friend's eyes as he looked at the woman, one that said he was interested, and the magister wasn't looking too happy about their discourse.

Deciding to intervene before things got nasty, he strode out toward the craft where they were standing, bumping Ronon slightly as he passed.

'Oh, sorry, Romaed! My steering's a little off since my _accident_.'

Ronon arched an eyebrow, looking a little confused. The stare Sheppard gave him in return was more intense and carried a far clearer message. _Be careful._

'Well, it's been wonderful to see you both again,' Magister Callaedin said smoothly, giving the Tranaedans a sickly smile. 'And don't worry, Garzin, I'll soon have those permissions arranged for you. Your man will be able to start his work tomorrow.'

'Thank you,' the magister smiled with a respectful dip of his head. 'I'll inform Mercator Ashnael the permissions will be with him shortly. Alathael...shall we?'

He gestured toward the craft, and Sheppard took that as his cue to open the thing up and help her on board, but he magistra refused his offered hand and asked Ronon to help her mount the craft instead. A quick glance at the magister showed how he felt about that. The magistra was playing a dangerous game and using his friend as bait. Either she was trying to lure the Satedan because she knew he was an off-worlder too, or she had figured that putting Ronon in danger might force his hand. Whichever it was, he needed to figure out a way of stopping her.

Tranaedan mounted before him, then he climbed on board and slammed the door shut behind them all, closing out the leering smiles of his would-be new owners. He got the feeling that conversation with Magistra Callaedin wasn't the end of the matter, especially when she gave him a sly wink. Getting back to the Tranaedan house seemed more important than ever. He scooted into his seat and started the engines, raising the craft up and turning to face the gates even before they were open.

'Keen to be home, aren't we, Jadrael,' the magistra purred from behind him. 'Expecting trouble?'

He felt himself go a little dizzy, and knew she was trying to pick at his brain again. He blocked her just as he would a Wraith queen, thinking empty thoughts, or singing songs...well, it was a kind of singing, but even in his head, he could never hit all the right notes.

'Perhaps Jadrael is feeling the strain. He has been unwell,' Tranaedan pointed out in that creepily understanding manner he'd now developed toward him. Sheppard was beginning to think he preferred his mean side.

'And whose fault is that?' his wife snapped back at him. 'You were the one who beat him senseless as I recall.'

Sheppard sensed Ronon bristle behind him. He was like a guard dog – the merest mention of harm to his friends setting him off.

'And whose fault was it that I felt the necessity to do that?' the magister countered, giving her a purely evil glare.

When the gates were just wide enough to squeeze the ship through, Sheppard steered them through. He saw his owner give him an odd look from the corner of his eye, but he'd known what he was doing. The ship had never been in danger of getting a scratch.

'But off course your propensity for violence would be my fault,' he heard the magistra sneer from her seat behind him, continuing the argument he'd hoped was over. 'As if you need any excuse!'

'Not much, you're all the excuse I need.' Then he turned in his seat. 'I see the niceties have ended the moment we leave the Callaedins behind us.'

'Well can you blame me, after having to force on a smile for that length of time to keep those idiots happy?'

'What? I thought you liked the Callaedins?' he said, apparently shocked by the revelation.

Sheppard glanced back at Ronon, who rolled his eyes. Clearly, he was pissed at getting caught in the middle of a domestic, too. He just hoped Tranaedans' bad mood didn't get taken out on either of them.

When they reached the gates, Tranaedan handed over the paperwork necessary for exiting the city to the facilitators, while the bickering continued at a more muted volume. It reminded Sheppard of his own marriage failure, the last few months of his life with Nancy having been filled with equally petty disagreements. But the difference here was the magister was unwilling to let his wife go. At least he and Nancy had realised that was the only answer to their problems. The Tranaedans' feud was destined to go on until one of them died.

Puffing out a weary sigh, he looked out of the windshield at the facilitators, wondering what was taking them so long. The two men were huddled together, reading the paperwork and apparently double-checking it. There was something about their body language that told him there was a problem this time, and then one of them spoke into the communication unit beside the gates and he knew something was awry. They'd not done that on his previous trips out of the cities. The paperwork and clearance codes should have been enough. It was then the probable reason struck him. Magistra Callaedin had been pretty insistent that she wanted to keep him. This was part of a ploy. The Callaedins had asked the facilitators to stall them.

Even though he suspected interrupting his owners in mid-argument was tantamount to taking his life in his hands, Sheppard said, 'Magister...I think we have a problem.'

The magister stopped berating his wife and looked out of the windshield at the facilitators. 'Why haven't they opened those gates by now? The clearance was granted by Magister Callaedin himself.'

He pushed up out of his seat and stomped down to them, and from the way he angrily flailed his arms as he spoke to the men, Sheppard figured they were getting the brunt of his foul temper.

But no matter how much Tranaedan yelled and flapped, the two men didn't open the gates. Sensing an ambush, Sheppard looked back at Ronon, chewing nervously at his lip. Ronon's face betrayed the fact he, too, thought this was dangerous, something the magistra now picked up on.

'Jadrael, do you know something about this?' she demanded.

'What? You think I arranged this?' he huffed, watching the magister again as he grew progressively more furious.

'No...but I think you have an idea why this is happening. You were too quick to notice the problem.'

He pondered saying he didn't know anything, but, realising he didn't want to be hauled off to the Callaedins' household, or for Ronon to get hurt trying to stop it happening, he told her his suspicions.

'Magistra Callaedin approached me and expressed an interest in "owning" me,' he confessed. 'I got the feeling she wasn't going to take no for an answer.'

His owner's face clouded instantly, and he could see she was battling to maintain her decorum. 'That loathsome little...and all the times I have shown her favour because my husband insisted I should!' Then, taking a deep breath she said, 'Romaed, could you go outside and help my husband persuade those men to open the gates? I feel certain your presence will help to settle this dispute.'

Without a word, the Satedan did as she asked. Sheppard watched him join the magister and add his weight to the argument, squaring up to the two far smaller men. With both the magister and Ronon's considerable bulks now leaning on them, the two looked decidedly worried, but they still weren't giving ground. Sheppard suspected things might be about to turn physical, but then the magistra slipped into the passenger seat beside him and stared so intently at the two facilitators, she didn't seem to notice him watching her. The colonel saw a change in their stance; the two became gradually less confrontational, and as they did so, so did Tranaedan and Ronon. In only a few minutes, an agreement was apparently reached and the gates began to budge open. The magistra switched back to her previous seat without a word, though she did cast him a look that he took to mean he shouldn't mention what had just happened.

So had she just influenced the facilitators in the way the sensory had said the afflicted could? It was their job to open the gates if the codes were correct, so they would have known it was the right thing to do. But she wasn't one of the afflicted. She didn't look like them. So how had she learned to do that? He glanced back at her, seeing her expression was unchanged. Since he just wanted to get back to the relative safety of the Tranaedan household, he figured he should follow her silent but somehow perfectly clear instruction.

Once Ronon and Tranaedan were back on board Sheppard flew them out through the consecutively opening gates. And for the first fifteen minutes or so of their journey things went according to plan. His owners continued to argue, of course, but now, outside of the confines of Traginta, he didn't find it quite as irritating. Instead, he found himself mulling over the strange things the magistra seemed capable of. If the sensory was right that it was years of exposure to the iron in the soil and waters of the Soulless Sands that made him the way he was, what had given her the same levels of ability?

A thud against the left side of the craft shook him out of his thoughts. Tranaedan flicked on a scanner, and they saw two ships in pursuit, one beside them where he'd felt the collision, another just behind them and gaining fast.

'Bandits!' Tranaedan hissed. 'Get us out of here, Jadrael. This ship has to be better than theirs.'

Sheppard hoped he was right, veering the craft to the right as the ship beside them tried to ram them again. The contact was glancing this time, nothing serious.

'Everyone strap in!' Sheppard ordered, watching the craft behind them making up the distance fast. Though he tried to swerve, they made hard contact with the rear of the vessel, shaking them all in their seats and making the magistra squeal with fear.

That ship now came up on the right of them, making them the filling in the sandwich. Metal screeched on either side of them.

'Jadrael!' Tranaedan bellowed.

'I'm working on it,' Sheppard replied, immediately letting off the acceleration and letting the two other craft shoot ahead, bumping sides with each other before righting their course. When they slowed to wait, Sheppard forced the acceleration up hard, shooting forward so fast he passed them both. Then, as the others sped up again, he swerved violently, forcing them to veer to avoid hitting him too hard. He knew what lurked out in these lands now, so he'd taken a gamble on the fact they couldn't afford to have their craft disabled so far from the safety of a city, and it seemed he was right.

'We need to lose them,' Ronon rumbled.

'I know, but they've got some power in those ships,' Sheppard replied. 'This is gonna take more than speed to fix.'

He forced the engines hard, and they screamed their distress at the demands he made of them. They picked up speed, but the two other craft managed to keep pace. He wove the ship violently toward each vessel sending them veering, watching their positions on his scanner, forcing them away time and time again until he finally had them circling back and coming at him from either side. Then, he decelerated fast, the two ships so engrossed in their own battles with the Tranaedan craft that for a moment the pilots lost concentration. The man at the controls of the craft approaching from the right obviously realised his mistake and tried to change course, but it was too late. The two transports collided in front of the Tranaedan ship, the larger of the two clipping the rear wing of the other, and both of them spinning off out of control until they smashed to the ground.

They flew on, Ronon leaning forward and clapping Sheppard on the shoulder. 'Nice flying.'

Beside him, the magister loosened his grip on his seat, the colour returning to his blanched knuckles. 'Yes, Jadrael. Very good,' he agreed, swallowing hard. 'We owe you our thanks.'

He looked behind Tranaedan to his wife, who just smirked as if she'd known he would save them all along. She turned away from him, feigning a bored yawn.

Well that was fine; if she'd lost interest in him that was all well and good, so long as she kept her claws out of Ronon.

He promised himself that he'd have a talk with Ronon to warn him just how dangerous that woman was once they were back home and away from their owners.

The rest of the journey was uneventful, punctuated only by snide remarks cast between Tranaedan and his wife. It would have been funny if lives weren't at stake because of their differences. Sheppard half expected trouble when they reached the gates of Traginta Duo a little later, but thankfully that sense of foreboding proved to be false.

Once in the hangar, obviously feeling benevolent after their near miss, the magister told Sheppard to get some rest and clean the craft in the morning again, mumbling something about sleep being good for his recovery. Well, someone apparently really didn't want him dead. It made the magistra's threats a little less worrying at least. So, the two men ambled their way to the servant's staircase, Ronon slowing his pace to accommodate Sheppard's obvious delicate state, and as they journeyed up the stairs to their rooms, Sheppard gave Ronon all the warning he needed about Magistra Tranaedan and her uncanny ability to turn a man's head...and her psychotic husband's idea of retribution.

oooOOOooo

Before sunrise could disturb her slumbers, Sangaela woke Teyla from her deep but nightmarish sleep. She had dreamt of Ronon and John in pain, just out of her reach, never quite being able to get to them, but unable to shut out their screams. It was a relief to open her eyes and realise it hadn't been real, though the crippling headache that throbbed behind her eyes soon ended that relief.

'Teyla, something arrived last night for you. I let you sleep because you were so tired, but I think you might want to see this now.'

Teyla struggled to her feet, feeling pathetic when the old woman had to support her out into the breaking light. There, lying on the ground were several things; dozens of metal canisters, and a thick pair of gloves. She frowned, puzzled. 'Are you certain these things are for me?'

'This note came with them. We cannot read it, but perhaps it explains things.'

The young man who had spoken handed her a folded sheet of paper, and she instantly recognised Rodney's meticulously neat handwriting. Set out in those words was an instruction of how she could help, asking the afflicted she now resided with to communicate with any Atlantis personnel on the planet and guide them toward Traginta Duo and the places Ronon and John were being held captive. Also noted down was an explanation of what the canisters were intended for. Inside those reinforced steel canisters was a highly corrosive acid. She was to pour each canister into an area on the wall large enough for her to crawl through, one after the other allowing a small passage of time between each application. He and Curan Bathraen had calculated based on their assumed thickness of the wall, guessing that it was a similar construction to those around the Centum Civis, that there was more than enough acid to eat right through the stonework without destabilising the overall structure. That way, she would be able to walk to the dark circle surrounding the township, the area affected by the electromagnetic field, cross it a short way, and after asking the afflicted to also communicate her position to the Atlantis rescue teams, she could wait there to be picked up.

'One of my friends requests your help,' she announced to everyone gathered there. 'He wishes you to communicate the position of each member of my team to the rescue teams we hope are searching for us.'

The afflicted all looked at one another, then collectively at Sangaela, who constantly fixed her gaze on Teyla. After a short pause, the woman closed her eyes and concentrated, and Teyla knew she was reaching out with those incredible senses of hers. Was she doing what she'd asked of her?

'The time is not yet right,' the old woman told her on opening her eyes once again, and Teyla had to fight with the urge to scream in frustration. Would the time ever be right for these people to act?

Then she continued. 'But it will be soon. I sense the time for us to help is coming with the rising of the sun. Tomorrow, you and your friends will be free.'

Her heart singing with that news, Teyla folded up the papers, pushing them into her pocket, then pulled on the gloves, picking up a canister and heading across to the exterior wall. 'Then while I wait, I will put the rest of my friend's plan into action. By the morning, you will be free if you wish to be, too.

She unscrewed the lid and trickled the contents in an arched shape across the surface, stepping back to give it time to work. Almost immediately, the liquid and stone reacted against one another, fizzing loudly and bubbling up, liquefied stone dripping to the ground as the afflicted gathered there with her marvelled.

After a few minutes the reaction stopped the fizzing dying down to nothing. Teyla edged forward and gently touched the stone that had been eroded finding even more of it still crumbly. 'I need something to scrape this away. That way, the acid will reach deeper into the stone each time I apply it.' A couple of her audience shuffled away, returning in short order with various cooking implements, including some metal ladles. Teyla thanked them and used one of the large spoons to scrape away at the softened stone until she hit solid rock again. Then she repeated the process a few more times, watching the acid eat through the wall a fraction of an inch at a time.

She stood back and watched the last canister's contents go to work, smiling at Sangaela as she spoke. 'You will no longer be confined by these walls, Sangaela. In the morning, I will walk to freedom, and bring what help I can to ferry you to safety.'

The old woman nodded. 'I will round up five of our fittest to go travel with you and ensure your safety while you wait for rescue.'

That surprised Teyla. She looked around at the others, seeing many apparently keen to volunteer for the quest. 'But you told me there were monsters outside of these walls. What of the dangers your people might face out there? I do not wish any of you to put yourselves in danger for me.'

'And I also told you the time for you to help would come. This is that time, Teyla. And we will do all we can to help you in this. We want you to find your way home.'

Teyla placed her hands on the woman's shoulders and touched her forehead against the old woman's. 'Thank you, Sangaela. Thank all of you. And I promise once I am reunited with my people, I will ensure your plight here is addressed.'

'We know you will, Teyla...you and your friends will all play their part. Particularly the pilot.'

For just a moment, Teyla's excitement gave way to panic once again. In her eagerness to get the plan underway, she had momentarily forgotten John and Ronon's suffering. At least now she was working toward ending that.

Soon, they would be reunited and away from this world, where the city folk could do them no more harm. She just hoped the same could be said for the people of the Forbidden Zones. They truly deserved emancipation...perhaps even more than her team did.

* * *

**Chapter 26 **


	27. Chapter 27

**Chapter 27**

Having spent the day in the Government offices, pacing the floors while waiting for news, Elizabeth had finally given in to her exhaustion and fallen asleep in a chair in the waiting room she and Lorne's team had been relegated to. But what little sleep she got was broken and restless, not helped by the lack of her familiar bed back on Atlantis and the underlying feeling that the first minister still wasn't providing them with all the help he could.

Dr Zelenka had worked tirelessly throughout the day to help the government data officers he'd been assigned to assist write the program necessary to collate their information, but he had apparently hit stumbling block after stumbling block, with each and every city reluctant to give permission for their data to be scrutinized in such a manner. It seemed to them as outsiders that Haraendon was a planet suffused by dishonesty, greed and mistrust, and even if the first minister was in earnest about wanting to find their missing team, there were plenty of others, possibly moving outside of the law, who might be able to block their way.

One good thing had come of the day. The five missing marines had all been returned to them, and, other than sporting a few bruises where they had tried to resist capture, they were all in good health and fine spirits. They had tried to apologise for causing Elizabeth extra worry, but she'd refused to hear it, insisting none of what had happened was their fault. They had all been a little too naive in their dealings with the people of Haraendon, perhaps subconsciously believing that people with such an advanced culture couldn't possibly be so mean spirited. How wrong they had been. Once sure they were well enough to travel, Elizabeth had asked Lieutenant Harding to take them back to Atlantis, and Thalaezin had furnished them with the necessary permissions to leave without question...the one thing he'd co operated with without any sense of hesitation. She'd given the lieutenant instructions to return once he'd safely delivered them home, and remain cloaked outside the city gates where they could call on his help if it should be required. It always paid to have an ace up your sleeve.

Eventually, Zelenka shuffled in to join them, looking even more rumpled than usual. 'I'm sorry, Elizabeth, but so far we have been unable to find any log of anomalous movement between the cities. Everyone is accounted for. We do have twenty cities still to communicate with, but having kept the last data officers at their desks well past their official working hours, we've been unable to contact anyone else since. It seems they have gone home for the night.'

'That's...inconvenient,' Elizabeth said, choosing her words carefully. What she'd actually wanted to say had been far more vulgar, but she needed to maintain an air of professionalism in front of her staff. 'Didn't Thalaezin explain to them how important this work was?'

'Apparently he did, but I've been told government officers have strict working hours and they rarely vary from them. There would have to be a declaration of war before they bent that rule, I think.'

'Well, if they carry on like this, they'll be getting just that,' Elizabeth muttered, annoyed by her own willingness to resort to such violent thoughts. Perhaps Major Lorne had been right. Perhaps Thalaezin and everyone else in a position to help them on this planet only responded to one thing – threats to their personal safety.

She leaned forward in her seat, resting her elbows on her knees, her hands, palms together, pressed to her lips. She was starting to wonder if her people really had been attacked and eaten by that purraet Thalaezin had mentioned in their first meeting. But Lorne had been sure there was no sign of an attack where their tracks had ended. She had to hold on to that grain of hope.

'Do you get the impression they're genuinely trying here, Radek?' she asked, trying to decide what their next move should be.

'Yes, at least the workers here were. The others...I'm not so sure. There is so much corruption on this planet, it's hard to know what influence could be driving them.'

She nodded her understanding. Who knew what any of the Centrum Civis records officers were being subjected to? Perhaps superior government officers were bringing pressure to bear on them. Perhaps they were being bribed to withhold information...or perhaps they simply didn't know anything. If the corruption actually started with the facilitators manning the gates, there was most likely no record of any unauthorised personnel entering or leaving the city to be found.

'Major, contact the rest of your men and tell them to get some sleep. I want them fully rested tonight because I have a feeling we're going to need to act tomorrow. I'll give these people until midday to produce some useful information, then we start to lean on them – hard.'

'You think Thalaezin knows more than he's letting on?' Lorne asked her.

'Someone on this planet might, and if we threaten them in just the right kind of way, whoever does might feel compelled to hand Colonel Sheppard and his team back to us.'

'And how exactly are we going to do that?' he asked. 'With nothing to go on, we have no idea how to pitch it.'

'I'm not sure yet,' she confessed. 'And I'm too tired to think straight tonight. I suggest we all get some food and some rest and hopefully I'll figure something out by the morning.'

'Ma'am, the longer we give these people, the more time they have to bury any traces of the colonel and his team –'

She nodded, holding up a hand to stop him. 'I understand your concerns, Major, but I think we're way past the "hiding their tracks" stage. That's already been done so well we can't find a single microdot of information on them. Time isn't a factor here; playing the game is what matters. There has to be something we can do, or something we can threaten them with, that will make it worth their while returning our people. We just have to figure out what that is.'

Though clearly frustrated by what he no doubt viewed as yet another day of inactivity, Major Lorne deferred to her judgement. 'Okay, Ma'am. Why don't I see if I can go rustle us up some of that food you were talking about?'

'That would be good,' she smiled. 'Thank you.'

He signalled to Reynolds to stay put and took the other marine with him. Zelenka gave her a sheepish smile as if he felt he had something to apologise for, but he didn't. He'd worked harder than anyone had today, but it had all come to nothing. Sighing, Elizabeth slouched back in her seat again and ran over everything in her mind. She had just over half a day to come up with a scheme that would make the peoples of the Centum Civis sit up and listen, and right now it was all she could do to keep her eyes open.

But maybe sleep was the answer. She couldn't count the number of times she'd gone to bed with a problem on her mind, only to dream up a workable solution. Perhaps this would be one of those occasions.

Stranger things had happened...

oooOOOooo

After tossing and turning for a couple of hours or so, Sheppard slipped from his bed, pulled on some of Manstaen's old work clothes and his boots, and then snuck across into the room where he knew Ronon was sleeping. The Satedan immediately rolled over to face the door as he opened it, seemingly about to pounce, but his posture soon relaxed when he realised who it was.

'What's up?' he asked.

Sheppard crept over to his bed and perched on the edge of it. 'I was told by someone I trust that I would have an opportunity to get out of this house soon, then the jumper turned up today. The two things have to be linked.'

'So...you wanna take it now?'

Sheppard nodded. 'Feelin' like forcing a few doors for me buddy?'

'Just tell me what to do.'

'Okay...this is the plan. The Tranaedans both have controls to open the ramp down in the hangar. I think we should head to the magistra's room and see if we can find hers. Then we make sure she stays quiet so we can get the hell out of here.'

'Why don't we save some time and blow our way out with a drone?' Ronon asked, sitting up and throwing back the covers, pulling on his shoes.

'That was my first plan, but the jumper's damaged and it has no shields. If the building comes down, we could be trapped, or worse still, crushed. Besides, I'd prefer not to risk any of the other slaves getting out of here, so if we can get the control for the ramp, we can get out of here with no trouble.'

Ronon nodded, throwing on a baggy shirt. 'She's not gonna give up that control willingly.'

'I know, which is why I need you, buddy. I figure she would have trouble dealing with the two of us, no matter how much she can mentally poke around in our heads. Besides, saying no to you is like sticking your arm in an alligator's mouth and asking it not to bite.'

Ronon looked confused, not grasping the metaphor.

'I mean it's dangerous,' Sheppard clarified.

'Oh...right.'

'Okay...you ready?'

Ronon nodded, and followed him to the door. They'd just stepped out into the corridor when the sound of shouting somewhere in the lower levels of the house stopped them in their tracks. Sheppard slapped the back of his hand into Ronon's chest when he tried to press on, telling him to wait while he tried to work out who it was. Around them, the other servants were cracking open their doors and peering out, disturbed by the noise. Pulling on various items of clothing, they all shuffled out and joined Sheppard and Ronon, the tension spreading through them almost tangible.

'Where is he?' a low male voice demanded from beneath them. 'Where's the slave?'

'What slave?' Sheppard heard Tranaedan ask. 'And why do you want to know? What's this about?'

'The pilot. Where is he?'

This second demand was followed by a scream from the magistra. Sheppard held his breath. They were looking for him?

'Tell me where the off-worlder is now or I'll slit your throat!' a gruff voice barked.

Crap! That was bad. The sensory had been right. He was getting out of the house now, whether he liked it or not because Tranaedan would most likely kill him himself now he knew the truth. But who were these people? Had the Callaedins sent them after the failed bid to take possession of him earlier?

'Off-worlder?' he heard Tranaedan echo. 'What are you idiots talking about?'

Sheppard winced at his choice of words, but at some level admired the magister's spirit. He was clearly not an easy man to intimidate if he could be that brash even without his bodyguard.

'We know the pilot is an off-worlder. We've seen the evidence. You might want to keep it quiet, but there's no point in lying to us when we already know the truth.'

Evidence? The Callaedins didn't have evidence on him. So who did and who had sent these guys? Ashnael? Was this some kind of revenge for taking Ronon from him? But he'd been adamant that Tranaedan shouldn't find out he was an off-worlder, so he doubted the man would have changed his mind. The only other person who knew was Bathraen, and if he'd double crossed Rodney, he'd better hope he didn't run into him.

'Alathael!' Tranaedan raged, turning his ire on his deceitful wife. 'What have you done?'

Sheppard decided it was time to act. With the Tranaedans otherwise occupied, this might be the ideal time to slip into one of their rooms and steal the ramp control...if they could avoid the thugs now searching the house for him. 'Lanae, Raelzine, get yourselves into a room and block the door with everything you can push against it. You two need to stay out of the way,' he told them.

'Don't worry about us; I know somewhere safe we can hide. The rest of you should come with us,' the older woman told him, wide-eyed with fear. 'Especially you, Jadrael. They're looking for you.'

'Well, I'll just have to make sure they don't find me, won't I?' he called back to her, giving her a crooked smile. 'Get yourselves to safety. Vandaer, why don't you go with them so you can defend them.'

'My duty is to protect my owners, not their slaves,' Vandaer told him, and although Sheppard felt like slapping the man upside the head and reminding him what Tranaedan had done to Waelden, he nodded his agreement.

'Be careful,' Raelzine told him, then steered Lanae away to wherever it was she thought they would be safe.

That left Vandaer standing alongside them. They needed to get rid of him. 'We have to protect the Tranaedans,' the slave said, standing there as if waiting for them to go first, heroic as long as someone else took point.

'Yeah, good idea,' Sheppard agreed. 'We should split up and come at them from different angles. Romaed, you head that way and take the main staircase. Vandaer, you head that way and take the other servants' set. I'll take the stairs here where there's the most noise and try to keep them talking while you guys sneak up on them.'

Vandaer looked worried and visibly shaky, but nodded and did as he was told. Ronon strode away as the other man ran to the opposite end of the corridor and disappeared to carry out his part of the plan. Before turning the corner, Ronon stopped and checked Vandaer was out of sight.

'So, what now?' he rasped.

From behind the Satedan, Sheppard saw the little red girl poke her head around the corner and beckon to him.

'We go your way,' he replied, running to catch up with him.

Ronon caught sight of the little girl as she turned, and she gave him a beaming smile before running away from them both.

'That's the plan? We follow that kid?' Ronon asked.

Sheppard knew that didn't exactly sound like a foolproof idea, but the sensory had told him to trust the child, and odd as she undoubtedly was, he found he really did.

'That's right,' he said simply, sprinting after her.

The child wove her way down many corridors, and eventually down to the main staircase, reserved only for the use of the owners should a fault arise with their elevator. They descended two floors in relative darkness. The child carried a lamp with her, but hadn't lit it, probably for fear it would give away their position. Despite the relative darkness they made good progress, but then had to stop and re-evaluate. Although Ishraela had taken them away from the source of the original shouting, it seemed that more than one party had infiltrated the household.

'They're coming,' Ishraela whispered, suddenly grasping his hand. 'I wanted to take you down further, but now you must come with me.'

She tugged him away from the staircase and along the corridor on that level. Here, only one floor above the bedrooms of the Tranaedans, the shouting was far louder as whoever had broken in became more threatening. Yet, the magister himself seemed more concerned with the revelation that Sheppard was an off-worlder than the fact his home was under attack. Had he worked out his wife's great escape plan?

'We'd better find a way out of here or that guy's gonna kill you,' Ronon rumbled, keeping close to the wall as they pursued the red child until she came to a stop.

The little girl tugged at a grill in the floor near the wall, pulling it off with ease. 'I loosened one on each level so I can get around easily,' she told them, with another grin. 'It took an age to find the first loose one I could force off and sneak through into the house.' She beckoned to Sheppard. 'Come on. In here.'

Worried it might be leading him into a garbage disposal, he bent down and peered into it. 'Where does it go?'

'It's just an air vent. It leads outside. While the Tranaedans are busy trying not to get killed, you should be able to get out of here and find a place to hide.'

The opening was narrow, a perfect fit for a small red girl, but a tight fit for him...and there was no chance of a Satedan was fitting down it.

'Ronon can't fit in there,' Sheppard pointed out, hanging back.

Along the corridor, the shouting got louder. The intruders obviously planned to check every floor and were now on their level.

'Please, John. We have to go now. Ronon will be all right. He isn't the one they want and Tranaedan doesn't know he's an off-worlder.'

He shook his head. 'I'm not leaving him behind. There a ship I can fly out of the hangar. We can all get on board and get out of here. We just need a contr –'

'You can't get the controller or the jumper, John. The hangar is heavily guarded to prevent anyone getting out of the house. All the exits are being watched by armed men. This is the only way out.'

Sheppard shook his head again, but Ronon was insistent. 'She's right, Sheppard. You have to go. I'll slow them down to give you a head start.'

'I...I guess I could go now and come back for you,' Sheppard said hesitantly.

'Make sure you do,' the Satedan grinned, bolting away before he could say another word.

'Ronon!'

But the Satedan was already around the corner and out of sight. Sheppard was about to go after him when Ishraela stopped him. 'John...you have to come with me. Ronon will be fine. I promise you, but if you fall into the hands of these men, anything the Tranaedans or Callaedins could do to you will pale into insignificance. Please...come on!'

He stared up the empty corridor again, his natural instincts to help Ronon pulling him that way, but the memory of the sensory's conversation with him telling him he should follow the girl. He looked down at Ishraela, her amber eyes huge and imploring, and realised she could well be one of the afflicted whose future he was meant to change. If he didn't do this she might join Lanae on Rabbrine's butcher's table, dissected for what she could offer the upper classes and then tossed aside like so much garbage. Much as he wanted to help his friend, he knew there was something much bigger riding on his escape. Though it tore him up to do it, he nodded his agreement and squeezed into the opening.

The fit was as tight as he would have wanted, any narrower and even his slim build would have been too broad to fit through it. He slid himself along on his stomach until Ishraela could fit in behind him, where she pulled the grill back in place and whispered, 'Go straight ahead until you find a hole leading downwards and just keep heading for the ground floor.'

They were on the sixth floor, which meant they had to work their way down a number of levels before they could get out...although he might be able to jump from higher than that if forced. He did as Ishraela told him to, slithering along, then manoeuvring himself down to floor five.

In the house, the shouting and arguing continued, moving about, sometimes much closer, other times very distant. He even caught Ronon's raised voice in amongst it sometimes, and the cries of men he was no doubt beating the crap out of, playing the part of loyal slave while distracting everyone from finding him. It made him want to join the fight, but he couldn't, not now. One way or another, whoever's hands he ended up in, he was in big trouble. He had to get out of the house.

Though not normally claustrophobic, the proportions of the ducting were so narrow that they made him feel breathless and trapped. He focused on not crying out as he bumped and scraped his various lacerations and bruises, biting it back as he squeezed around tight bends and slithered his body down steep shafts between the floors.

A few storeys down, he stopped in his tracks. On the level beneath the ceiling their duct ran across he could hear voices, raised and angry. And one of them was the magistra's. Ahead of him, light was filtering in through a vent, and he slithered silently up to it to take a look at what was happening to the woman.

'You just get your hands off me, you disgusting piece of scum,' she spat at the rough looking specimen of man who was bundling her along ahead of him.

'If you would just tell us where the off-worlder is, we could be out of your hair with no further trouble,' he growled, giving her a shake. 'If not, things might just get a whole lot worse for you, _Magistra_.'

'I have no idea why you think Jadrael is an off-worlder. I have his paperwork in my room. Why don't you let me – ?'

'Paperwork can be faked,' the man grunted. 'Just bring the man to me and I can run tests that'll show me once and for all.'

'Why do the Callaedins want an off-worlder anyway?' she demanded. 'They've had their family. Surely they're not interested in having more children?'

'I'm not working for the Callaedins,' the man muffled through his mask. 'I have my own reasons for being here.'

That got Sheppard's attention. So these people definitely weren't working for the Callaedins? That made sense because Magistra Callaedin had no reason to know he wasn't from their planet. But if that was the case, who had tipped these men off?

'Well, I'm sorry, but I have no idea where Jadrael is now. With all the noise you've been making, he's probably got himself well hidden by now.'

The man growled his annoyance and began barking orders to his companions, sending them in all directions in search of him. As he did so, the magistra looked straight up to the vent, making Sheppard draw back, his heart hammering. She'd known exactly where he was even as she'd said that. At least she hadn't given him away.

When the group beneath them had moved on, Ishraela whispered for him to start heading downwards again. He didn't argue. The sooner he was out of this madhouse, the better as far as he was concerned. He cursed under his breath, as he pulled on his stitches a little more sharply than even he could tolerate, then pressed on in silence, determination stopping him from complaining again.

Finding a vent that led to an outside wall on the first floor, one that opened out onto a flat roof of a small room extending from the back of the house, Sheppard decided he was happy to make his descent from there. When he forced open the grill, it swung back, clanging against the outer wall. He froze momentarily, hoping the chaos in the house had covered the noise. When no one came running out to investigate, he decided to take his chances. He crawled out, savouring the night air, crisp as it was. It felt as though he'd been holding his breath for an age and now he could finally breathe at last. For the first time ever, he thought he might actually understand what it was like to be McKay. Perhaps he should be a little more sympathetic with him than he tended to be.

Wedging the grill back in place behind them, he and Ishraela crawled across to the edge of the roof and peered over it, finding the courtyard below was empty and silent. Sheppard climbed down first by hanging over the edge and dropping the final few feet, then Ishraela followed, Sheppard reaching up to support her as she came down.

'Come now,' the child urged him, scurrying around the building and toward the front gates. 'We have to get you away from here.'

She darted away, and he ran after her, the burning urge to return for Ronon still eating away at him. The tiny girl clambered her way up the great iron gates shutting in the Tranaedan household with surprising ease in the dark, while Sheppard, still suffering from his injuries, was forced to take things more carefully. The jolt as he landed on the other side of those gates reminded him just how bad things were, doubling him over as Ishraela whispered words of encouragement and dragged him into the safety of some nearby shadows.

'We have to get to the centre of the city. There is a transport loaded there and waiting to ship out at sunrise. It will take you to safety.'

'What about my friends?'

'You cannot concern yourself with them now, John. You need to get to the transporter...the sensory told me it was vital you did. Your friends are safe for now, and if you get off this planet and tell the people you meet what has happened, they will soon be saved.'

It went against everything that made him who he was to save his own ass without trying to help the others, but the sensory had been honest so far, and had even protected him from Tranaedan's full wrath, and he knew the slaves and afflicted deserved help. If his friends were safe, he would have to bite the bullet and forge on. He couldn't let them down now.

Nodding his agreement, he followed her toward the city centre, darting from one shady recess to another, avoiding late travellers and one government probe.

When they finally reached their destination, Sheppard saw a large transport vessel parked outside a warehouse-sized construction. That had to be the shipment the child meant, and when he signalled to it, she quickly nodded to show he was right.

'How am I supposed to get on it?' he whispered, eyeing it cautiously.

'With this,' she told him, holding up a swipe card. 'They have spare ones for each of their vehicles stored here. I borrowed it earlier.'

He thanked her and took it from her, about to make a bolt for the craft when she grabbed hold of him, preventing him from doing so. She slipped a knife from her belt and handed it to him. 'There's something you have to do before you can go any further. If you don't, you'll be back in Tranaedan hands before morning and all this will be for nothing.'

He looked down to his bandaged forearm, understanding what she meant. He had to dig out the ownership chip, or, once the trouble in the house was over, they would track him down and drag him back again.

She delved into a tatty pocket in her well-worn dress, pulling out a couple of fresh, still wrapped dressings. 'I stole these from the Tranaedans' treatment room. You'll need them to stop the bleeding. And here, take the lamp so you can see what you're doing.'

'Yeah...thanks,' Sheppard said, flicking her a quick, tight smile. This was a task he didn't relish, but he knew it had to be done.

'I'll go keep watch. Try to be quick,' she told him, heading off to the opening at the end of the street to ensure no one approached.

Sheppard cut away the old dressing, revealing the injury it hid. The stitches were still clear, but the skin had begun to heal. This was going to hurt like a bitch, but there was no other option. The chip had to come out.

He could roughly remember where Rabbrine had placed his tag, so put the knife to the spot and, taking a deep breath, pressed the point hard against the scar. He felt the skin pop beneath it, and after a second or two of dull pressure, the pain registered big time. He sucked in a shuddering gulp of air and cut deeper, his hand shaking as he worked, which did little to help, then he held his breath to control his reaction, stopping for a brief time so he could pant a while before continuing. Once the cut was wide enough to open up, he sliced through the fresh growth of tissue to take it back to its original depth, spotting the corner of the chip. It was small, thankfully, so he was able to dig it out with the tip of his knife, almost crying with relief when it was over.

With the procedure complete Ishraela rushed backed to him, helping him to strap up his arm before he lost too much blood, and they soon had the injury covered and the worst of the bleeding stemmed.

'Stamp on the chip,' she told him, spotting it still sitting in the blood on the blade of the knife he'd set down beside him. 'You don't want them to track you this close to your hiding place.'

Sheppard wasn't sure he could stand, so instead set the chip down in the illuminated area around them and stabbed the tip of the blade into it, pressing down hard and twisting it until the minute square of circuitry broke in half. That had to be enough to shut it down.

'Good. Now get yourself hidden aboard that craft. It leaves at sunrise and once through the gates you'll be able to find help. I must go now, but all my hopes are with you, John.'

She kissed him quickly on the cheek and then ran away, the dim light of her lamp bobbing away from him, leaving him alone in the darkness. Wiping the blade of the knife on his trousers, Sheppard concealed the weapon, picked up the swipe card, and stumbled his way across to the cargo vessel he was meant to hide on. Ensuring no one was around, he operated the hatch and slipped inside, closing it behind him. Barely able to see his own hand in front of his face, he fumbled and groped his way to the back of the cargo area, where he found several large metal crates to conceal himself behind and settled in for the night.

His body shaking from the cold and shock, he hugged himself for warmth, grateful he did at least have the ship for shelter. And there, weak, sore and so very, very tired, he managed to slip into a restless sleep.


	28. Chapter 28

**A/N: Once again, thanks to all those of you who have stuck with this story and have taken the time to comment. I know it's a long one, but hopefully you'll continue to enjoy it. :)**

**Chapter 28 **

As morning dawned, a deathly silence descended over the Tranaedan household. The raid was over, the intruders either dead courtesy of Ronon's fighting skills, or gone away empty handed, fleeing once they were absolutely assured the pilot could not be found.

Vandaer had sustained serious injuries during the attack, a severe stab wound to his stomach, and as Ronon sat in the treatment room, listening to the man screaming in agony, he found himself wondering what had happened to his missing friend.

Earlier, he'd left Raelzine and Lanae on the ground floor of the house, surveying the damage. The girl had been crying, still in shock from the raid, and with little he could say to help, he'd left her to Raelzine's care. The old woman was most likely the best person to handle that kind of thing anyway. Having witnessed many Wrath cullings, this didn't seem so bad to him, but he supposed if this was the first time they'd endured such an assault, it would have been a frightening ordeal for them all.

Tranaedan had been mysteriously absent from proceedings since they'd ensured the house was clear. He'd taken himself off in some kind of childish fit of temper and locked himself in one of the upstairs rooms, leaving sorting out the mess to everyone else.

So, Ronon had spent the last hour dragging bodies to the elevator, and then dumping them down in the transport store. The sight of the jumper down there had given him a moment of wistfulness, but he'd pushed it aside to get on with playing his role. He could do that until Sheppard came back with help. Well, so long as no one came after him the way Ashnael had, he could do that for a while. And Sheppard had promised to come back for him. The man never, ever, broke a promise like that.

On the bed across the room from where he was sitting, Vandaer gave a gargling, prolonged scream, then fell limp. Ronon watched him a while, then rose slowly from his seat and crossed to the bed, testing the man for a pulse. He couldn't find one.

Sighing, Ronon closed the man's swiftly glazing eyes, just as the magistra swept in. She looked at him, then at Vandaer, her face falling.

'Is he?'

'Yeah.'

She approached the bed slowly, gazing down on him. 'He fought well last night.'

The Satedan nodded. 'Yeah...he did,' he nodded, and he had. But he couldn't feel sad for the man. He'd seen so much death in his time it was hard to be sad when a man had the chance to die bravely. There were far worse ways to go.

'Unlike your little friend. He soon made himself scarce, didn't he?'

Ronon slid his gaze her way, but kept his expression completely unresponsive. 'What d'you mean?'

'Jadrael. I didn't see him fighting, and now he's nowhere to be found.'

Ronon just shrugged. 'Probably heard they were after him and figured he should stay out of the way.'

'Oh, I think we both know he's not just hiding, don't we?'

Ronon's brain felt spongy as he looked back into her intense blue gaze. For a moment, he thought he might pass out, but he steadied himself against the bed in front of them until the feeling passed.

'Come. Sit down. Let me look at your injuries,' she said softly, taking his arm and leading him back to the chair he'd been sitting in. 'I've called for Curan Rabbrine, but I can –'

'I don't need him,' he grunted.

The magistra looked over at Vandaer's body, then back at him with a shrug. 'No, perhaps he is somewhat surplus to requirements now. I dare say my husband would be happy to save on his payment. I'll tell him not to bother...once we've treated those injuries of yours.'

'They're just scratches,' he told her, but she began gathering treatments together all the same.

When she had everything she apparently thought she needed, she set them down on a table beside him, unscrewing the lid of a bottle and tipping the contents against a dry pad of lint to bathe his various scrapes and cuts.

He flinched a little at the strength of the fluid stinging in his injuries, but soon got used to it. The woman's eyes continued to burn into him, and he felt lightheaded, woozy. Sheppard had warned him she could make him feel that way. He concentrated on thinking about the fighting he'd done last night, hoping that way she wouldn't pick up on anything she shouldn't.

'You and Jadrael seemed to get on very well,' she said, as she continued to work on him. 'It's almost as if the two of you were old friends.'

Ronon shrugged his broad shoulders. 'He was easy to like.'

'Yes...apparently so,' she replied, fixing him with a hard stare. 'But you seemed to bond with him more than any of my other slaves. Why is that?'

He just shrugged again, figuring silence was the best policy.

'When he first came here, he told me he had travelled to Haraendon with some friends in a ship that had crashed. You wouldn't be one of those friends, would you?'

Ronon just stared at her. From the way she was talking, it seemed like she already knew the answer anyway.

'Which, of course, means you're an off-worlder too?'

What was it with these people and their obsession with off-worlders? Why did it matter so much?

The woman set down her supplies and suddenly started stroking his arm and smiling at him in an all too seductive way. 'I think it could prove very fortuitous that your ship crashed on this planet, Romaed.'

Ronon's mind felt strange again, and as the magistra brought her face in closer to his, he felt a compulsion to kiss her, one he knew he should fight, but just couldn't...

'Alathael! Have you not caused enough trouble for one night?'

It was the magister, and he looked seriously pissed.

'Oh, and I'm to blame for that now, am I?' she spat back at him.

'Most likely, yes,' he yelled, storming across the room and grabbing her by the arm. 'You brought an off-worlder into our home. We could have all been killed!'

She tried to wrench her arm free, but his grip was too firm. 'I had no idea he was an off-worlder. Ashnael provided me with all the paperwork and it made no mention of the fact.'

'No...and I'm sure you paid him highly to ensure just that,' he snorted. 'Do you take me for that much of a fool?'

'What would I want with an off-worlder anyway? What use would one do me?'

'I have my suspicions, Alathael. Do you hate me so much that you would wish me dead?'

Ronon sighed, trying to think of a way of making his excuses to leave, but they weren't interested in anything he had to say, they were too busy tearing strips off each other now.

'What do you think?'

The huge man glared at her now, his face puce with anger, much the same complexion McKay often turned during one of his blowouts. 'I think the next time I catch you fornicating with the slaves, I should consider which of the two of you it would be better to be rid of. I have lost too many good slaves because of your insatiable appetites.'

'Don't be ridiculous –'

'I'm deadly serious, my dear,' he assured her. 'And the moment I find that pilot of yours, I'm handing him over to the government where he should have been in the first place. If he's still alive. One way or another, I'll make sure you can't get your hands on him again.'

With a final hard shake, he stomped away again, leaving her there with Ronon. She turned to the Satedan, and he lifted his eyebrows in a 'What now?' kind of way.

Apparently worried by her husband's threat, the magistra straightened out her hair and then said, 'I should call Curan Rabbrine and tell him his services are no longer required.' She swept away again, but hesitated as she reached the door. 'Oh, and don't for a moment think I can't find out what your little friend is up to. I have a feeling I'll be seeing him here again very soon.'

She left him there then, still stinging from her treatment. They were one messed up couple all right. Sheppard was well out of this place. But the magistra's final words remained with him. Sheppard had warned him that she knew things she shouldn't. He just hoped she was wrong about that particular fact.

oooOOOooo

_It was blisteringly hot as Sheppard piloted the Black Hawk over the barren Afghanistan landscape. One of their military convoys had been blown apart by a roadside bomb, and he hated to think about the scene of carnage that would greet him when he touched down at their destination._

_He checked their co-ordinates again, quickly calculating that they were now approximately ten minutes from their target. _

_A young doctor, one of the rescue team he was transporting, called forward to him. 'Major Sheppard, what's our ETA?'_

'_1317 hours,' he told him, nudging the sweat from his brow with the sleeve of his flight suit. 'Latest update said there were four fatalities and eight injured, three of them critical.'_

'_Understood.'_

_The medic sounded calm despite his relative youth, keeping a cool head in the face of their dangerous and traumatic mission. Sheppard had to admit he was impressed with the guy. He managed to be detached without coming across as cold, a good combination out in the field._

'_So, Dhawan, you seen much action?' he asked the man, keeping an eye on their surroundings._

'_I was posted out here two weeks ago. This is my third rescue mission,' he replied casually. 'From the sound of that update, this will be the worst yet.'_

'_How are you finding life in this hell-hole?' the major asked him. _

_The answer he got was not what he'd been expecting. 'Who's to say this place is hell? These people have their beliefs and they fight for them. Is that really so wrong?'_

'_The Taliban aren't exactly saints, Dhawan,' Sheppard pointed out. 'They hurt and oppress a lot of people. Surely, you're not telling me an educated guy like you agrees with that?'_

'_Of course not, but I can understand that they have their way of life, and they don't appreciate us trying to dictate to them.'_

_Though Sheppard could see his point, he couldn't let it go without comment. 'They took it upon themselves to attack our country and kill thousands of innocent people. I think that gives us the right to retaliate.'_

'_They see us as evil...a corrupting influence in the world. You call this hell – they see our world as full of evil and temptation. __The __Bhagavad Gītā__ states that_ _hell has three gates: lust, anger and greed. Does that sound like anywhere we know?'_

_An alarm sounded, alerting Sheppard to incoming weapons fire. He took the craft down just in time to avoid the RPG tearing through the air toward them. That had been way too close for comfort._

'_Yeah, well, Doc,' he replied, panting a little to regain his breath and steady his frantic heart rate. 'Right now, what I know is these people are hurting my friends and colleagues. If that makes them the good guys, this is one seriously messed up world.'_

_Dhawan laughed and nodded as Sheppard peered over his shoulder at him. 'That it is, Major. That it is.'_

The sound of an engine firing up woke Sheppard from his dream. The craft was vibrating beneath him in time with the purring mechanism now bursting into life. It looked like he would be on his way to the gate and hopefully freedom very soon.

He was hot, hotter than he should have been, and kind of achy, too. Had it not been for his temperature he would have put the aching down to sleeping in a confined space, but he knew that having missed some doses of his medication, the infection he'd been battling with was now fighting back.

Somewhere up ahead of him on this huge transporter, the pilot set the craft in motion. Sheppard felt the sway as they set off and then wedged himself in tight between two of the crates in the back of the vessel so as not to get bumped around too much during the flight.

His head pounded and nausea welled in his stomach as the ship wound its way through the city streets en route to the gates, but still that sense that he just had to hang in there and let the vehicle take him to safety gave him the strength to hold on.

Shivering violently against the cool early morning air, he wrapped his arms tightly around himself, drawing his knees up for added warmth. It hurt the damaged skin on his stomach and chest to do it, not to mention other areas, but since the shivering hurt too, he figured it was worth a try.

The pilot skilfully manoeuvred the craft along Traginta Duo's streets without any shift in the cargo, something Sheppard was grateful for because that at least meant he wouldn't have to add crushing to his list of injuries. The crates were heavy, and hadn't moved an inch all the time he'd been leaning against them during his sleep. If he'd had the strength he might have explored them, but he'd been so tired and cold he'd been happy to just sleep using their support.

When they got to the gates, the pilot drew up and handed over a set of paperwork. From where he was concealed, Sheppard could just make out where the man was sitting, listening to the idle chatter as the facilitators checked out his permissions. With everything apparently in order, the transport was soon in motion again, passing slowly through the three gigantic sets of gates.

Sheppard remembered his dream then, and the conversation he'd had with_ Dhawan_ all those years ago in Afghanistan. Perhaps that place hadn't really been hell after all. But if lust, anger and greed were the real symbols of hell, then this city had officially claimed the title. It even had the gates themselves to prove it.

In a movement mirroring that in his dream, he swiped away the sweat from his face with his upper arm, his right forearm and numerous other lacerations searing with pain each time he moved now. The gentle rolling motion and low hum of the engines soon lulled him to sleep again despite his best attempts to stay awake. As he began to drift, he hoped when he woke next time it would be to the sight of a very different world, one where every moment didn't feel like a fight to survive.

oooOOOooo

Just before sunrise, Teyla's hours of careful application finally paid off. With some persuasion, she and her afflicted friends were able to poke through the final outer skin of stone, and then many of her companions got their first ever look at the landscape outside their towering walls.

With morning now breaking, Sangaela had gathered all the encampment residents capable of leaving their homes into a clearing in the township, Teyla could see them now sitting together through the gaps between houses. A few others had been nominated to walk with her, and they carried supplies – the best of the food that had been delivered along with Teyla's message and stoppered bottles full of rusty water.

Teyla threw her free arm around Sangaela and pulled her into a warm embrace. 'Thank you for taking such good care of me, Sangaela. I only hope I can repay this kindness.'

'What needed to happen has come to pass,' the old woman told her, 'and it is time for you all to find your way home. We will communicate with your people now while they are resting and their minds are open to our messages. It is much easier to convey our thoughts over a great distance when people are in an altered state of receptiveness.'

Touching her forehead to Sangaela's in friendship, Teyla thanked her and then dipped her head in recognition of those who planned to travel with her, ducking out of the hole she had so carefully crafted with the others following in her wake.

They walked in silence as the sun rose higher in the sky, warming the air and the ground until the air felt hot in her lungs and throat. Without needing to voice her thirst, one of her companions hurried forward to catch up with her, passing her a bottle of water. She took it with thanks, and sipped a little, the sickening metallic taste setting her stomach broiling, though it did at least quench her parched mouth.

Happy to at last be doing something to help their situation, Teyla made light work of traversing the Forbidden Zone. The journey took a while by foot, but eventually she spotted the dark line in the sandy soil up ahead of them, quickening her pace to reach it. Rodney's instructions had told her not to stray too far past that mark, so she took twenty paces across it and then stopped, gazing out across the landscape. The last time they had been here, they had soon spotted Ashnael's craft approaching. Today, there was not a single craft in sight. All was silent on the border between the arid wastelands and the lush land only a few more steps away.

Once feeling calm and centred, Teyla sat down on the ground and closed her eyes, relaxing. Her headache was easing for the first time in days, and her nausea was much decreased already. She wondered if the others with her also felt an alleviation of their symptoms, but when she opened her eyes to ask them, she found they had all seated themselves in a circle around her, their heads dipped and eyes closed. They had joined Sangaela and the others in conveying her message. Teyla felt a little dizzy then, her head echoing to the sound of many voices calling to Doctor Weir, telling her where she could find her people. Feeling overwhelmed by their help, a tear streaked down Teyla's cheek. They might have been responsible for leading them to the city, but now they were playing their part in ensuring they found their way home. Humbled by the power of these people, she bowed her head and added her own thoughts to theirs, hoping beyond hope they reached their target. But why did they not mention John?

oooOOOooo

Having fallen asleep in Bathraen's lab, Rodney was woken by a firm shake of his shoulder. There were several books spread out beneath his head, the pages now crumpled, and he pushed them away as he sat back and took in his surroundings.

'I'm sorry to wake you, Dr McKay, but I have bad news,' the man told him, looking visibly shaken.

That was definitely not the way to wake up in a morning. Wiping a trail of drool from his cheek, he blinked the physician into better focus. 'Wha –? What kind of bad news?'

'An all households information bulletin was just issued. Your friend, the pilot, is missing after a raid on the Tranaedan household. Apparently, his ownership chip has been disabled so they have no way of tracking him. They believe he may even have been taken outside the city.'

Rodney's jaw dropped. This couldn't be happening, not when he'd just figured out a way to get the rescue teams to them. 'No, no, no, no, no!' McKay squawked. 'Why now? Why did that have to happen now?'

'My best guess is that someone discovered he was an off-worlder. The house was raided to claim him because of his great value on the black market. By now, he could be anywhere.'

'But who would know that...other than that witch of a woman who bought him, and, correct me if I'm wrong, but someone kidnapping him wouldn't be in her interest since she paid so much for him.'

'It could be Ashnael,' Bathraen told him. 'Perhaps he was offered even more for your friend than Magistra Tranaedan paid him.'

'Well, that's sure as hell a god way of making a fortune, continually kidnapping and selling the same man. And a sure fire way to get yourself killed if he's found out.'

'But not beyond him, Dr McKay. You can trust me on that.'

Rodney nodded, his brain buzzing with the possible dangers Sheppard might be in. 'We need to go and see Ashnael...persuade him to tell us what happened.'

Bathraen actually laughed out loud at that. 'He will not tell us anything, Dr McKay. There is no profit in it for him. Ad you're forgetting that he knows my secret. There is no power I can wield over him greater than the threat of my discovery.'

'Dammit!' Rodney cried, dropping his head into his hands. 'We're so close to rescue. Only Sheppard could get into this much trouble right now!'

'I'm sure if he could have evaded capture he would ha –'

'He wasn't captured,' a small voice said from the doorway, startling them both.

A small red child stood at the door to the laboratory, filthy and tatty, her clothes bloodstained. And for a moment, the two men just stared at her in stunned silence.

'Child, are you hurt?' Bathraen said, recovering from the shock of her unexpected appearance more quickly than McKay and rushing forward to her. He grasped her arms and scanned her face, but she simply smiled back at him, unperturbed.

'I'm fine. The blood isn't mine, it's John's.'

'What!' Now Rodney was on her case, demanding information. 'What do you know about all this? Where is he?'

'He wasn't captured in the raid...he escaped. I helped him,' she told them both, her grubby little face breaking into an impish smile. 'The blood is from removing his ownership chip so he couldn't be tracked. I helped him dress the wound.'

Feeling a little sick at that thought, Rodney asked, 'And is he okay? Where is he now?'

'He is sick, but will be well,' she said, matter-of-fact. 'He is currently aboard a transporter heading toward the Stargate. When he reaches the planet the ship is heading to, he will be able to see the sensory's prophecy through, and the beginning of change will come to our planet.'

'Change? What change?'

'The end of oppression...the end of cruelty. Eventually, all on Haraendon will be free. That is why I came to you specifically, Curan Bathraen. I knew this news would bring both you and Rodney joy.'

Rodney looked at Bathraen, the physician's face cracking into a rare smile. 'Truly?' the man breathed, tears welling in his eyes.

'Yes, truly.'

'See...and no crazy sterilisation plans required,' McKay snorted, embarrassed by the man's tears. 'Just a pilot with bed head.'

'Oh, no, Dr McKay. That was definitely necessary,' the little girl told him. 'Had Curan Bathraen not done that to the population all those years ago, Magistra Tranaedan would never have taken John into her home. And the sensory needed to meet with him...to show him what those people are capable of and will be capable of. The depravity you see in Traginta Duo now is just the beginning. Without everything that has come to pass now, our future would have been much bleaker.'

'So this is all happening in accordance to some great galactic plan?' McKay smirked.

'That's right, Dr McKay.'

'And Sheppard coming here was the key to your salvation?' McKay asked, simultaneously amused and irritated by the revelation.

'Yes,' she smiled. 'What he will do today will set us free.'

'Oh, he is so never going to let me forget this!' Rodney sighed. 'Now he's gonna develop a Messiah complex and get all "holier than thou" on us.'

'And with good reason. Today is surely a good day to be alive in Traginta Duo,' Bathraen beamed. Then he hugged the little girl to him, before holding her away to arm's length again. 'Come now, child. You look famished. Let's clean you and get you dressed and then you will eat breakfast with us. I think I still have some clothes from when my daughter was your size.'

Rodney watched them walk away, the physician babbling away happily to the frighteningly knowledgeable child. He wasn't a big believer in psychics, but the kid certainly had an air of confidence about her that made her words seem somehow plausible. He hoped she was right that Sheppard was on his way to safety. That would really be the icing on the cake when Atlantis came knocking for the rest of them.


	29. Chapter 29

**A/N: And just when we thought things were coming to an end... :D**

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**Chapter 29 **

_A chorus of voices spoke to Elizabeth, calling to her, urging her to listen to their message. They spoke of Sheppard's missing team, of the enclosure close to his crashed jumper, of enslavement and pain within the Tranaedan household. She saw a strange race of red-skinned, red-eyed people all seated in a large circle, their mouths closed, but their voices as clear as if they spoke directly to her._

'_You must travel to Traginta Duo, to the Tranaedan household. That is where you will find Ronon,' they told her, then they mentioned a Curan Bathraen's home, where Rodney was apparently being kept, and lastly they told her about Teyla waiting for them near the enclosure Lorne had passed on finding the downed jumper. But there was no mention of where Sheppard could be found. _

_Elizabeth tried to ask them where he was, but the voices rigidly repeated their mantra, telling her where each of the other members of the team were, but never giving any word of their leader. Try as she might, she just couldn't make her voice heard._

By the time she blinked her eyes open to the bright rays of the Haraendon morning, Elizabeth felt utterly drained and her head ached mercilessly. She slid her fingers back and forth across her forehead, trying to alleviate a little of the tension creasing her brow, noticing the others around her also beginning to stir, most of them looking equally tired and troubled.

'I just had the weirdest dream,' Reynolds groaned, pressing the heel of his left hand to his temple. 'There were all these red people –'

'What?' Elizabeth and the rest of their party all asked simultaneously. They blinked at one another, their brains still too befuddled by fatigue to make sense of what they were hearing. A rumble of confused questions erupted amongst them.

In a matter of seconds, Elizabeth's leadership instincts kicked in. 'Wait a minute!' she said, raising her voice above the others. Then she looked directly at Reynolds. 'What did you say, Lieutenant?'

He looked slightly embarrassed that everyone was focused on him now, rubbing the back of his neck as he spoke. 'I said, I dreamed about some weird red people. They were telling me to go to Traginta Duo – that we could find Ronon and Dr McKay there.'

'And Teyla?'

'They said she was out near the jumper crash site.'

Shaken to realise he'd had the exact same dream she had, she looked around at the others. They all looked as shocked as she felt certain she did. 'Did you all dream the same thing?' she asked them, her voice quaking a little as she tried to maintain her veneer of control.

Radek nodded, and Lorne and Jacobs, the other member of his team, just gave a single dip of their heads.

'Okay, that's...very strange,' Elizabeth admitted, throwing back her covers and rising to her feet. She stumbled across to the window, her head still throbbing, grasping the sill as she reached it and looking out across the city. The sprawling metropolis was just waking, a few transporters snaking their way through the streets far below their level. Everything looked as it had the day before, and she knew that because she'd spent a lot of time looking at it yesterday while waiting for news. But something felt different, and she realised it wasn't something outside of her, but something inside.

'Did anyone see or hear anything in their dreams about Colonel Sheppard?' she ventured, hoping that maybe she'd missed some clue or sign during her own dream.

'I'm afraid not,' Zelenka replied. 'I remember quite specifically where the others are supposedly located, but nothing about Colonel Sheppard. I don't think they even mentioned his name.'

Dropping her forehead against the windowpane, Elizabeth allowed the cold glass to ease her headache just a little. She doubted she would have slept well anyway with everything that was going on, but that had been by far the worst night's sleep she'd experienced in a long time, and now she felt drained.

The previous night, Thalaezin's assistant had shown them to several rooms used by off-world representatives when visiting Haraendon for trade negotiations, plush suites with all the facilities they could hope for. They'd been offered three separate rooms, but Lorne had been quick to step in and suggest they should stick together, regardless of the lack of space that would leave them with. So mattresses and bedding from the two other rooms had been dragged into one, and they had all rested together for both of the nights, Elizabeth and Zelenka being granted the use of the beds as the military men were used to sleeping on far worse than just mattresses.

But the cramped accommodation wouldn't have bothered her. It was that damned dream echoing around in her head and leaving her completely exhausted.

'Anyone got any thought about what this dream could be?' she asked, deciding the coincidence of five people in one room sharing that kind of experience could not be overlooked.

'Some kind of mass suggestion?' Lorne offered. 'I mean, we all know Traginta Duo is the closest city to the crash site, so it stands to reason that if they made their way anywhere, it would most likely be there.'

'But we all dreamed the same names, names none of us could possibly know. How is that possible?'

'Perhaps the team are trying to communicate with us,' Zelenka suggested. 'This planet is quite advanced in its technologies. Perhaps they have some kind of equipment to amplify thoughts so they can be tuned into at a subconscious level while we sleep.'

'But doesn't that mean everyone else in this building would have dreamed it, maybe everyone in the city?'

He shrugged. 'I suppose, but there could be other factors that would filter down who could receive it...To be truthful, I have no idea how it would work...if it even exists...'

Though the theory sounded far-fetched, and they couldn't even base it in any known science, it had a certain level of plausibility...it was definitely more believable than the idea they had simply shared a dream through proximity and shared knowledge. Elizabeth nodded as she continued to think it over, tucking her hair behind her ears to tidy up her appearance after such a restless night. 'All right...I'm willing to go on gut with this, and I think we need to follow this up. But who were those red-eyed people we saw?'

She turned to see them all shrugging. 'They didn't say,' Zelenka told her, and no, they hadn't said anything in her dream either.

'All right. Crazy as all this sounds, I think it's worth checking out,' Elizabeth announced, picking up her jacket from a plush blue chair where she'd dropped it the previous night and pulling it on, zipping it up to the collar. 'Let's go find someone who'll check out those names we heard. Maybe somewhere in those meticulous record systems of theirs, there'll be a note of the recent purchase of some slaves.'

'It's certainly worth a try,' Radek agreed, straightening his glasses and wild looking locks. 'It will give us something more specific to concentrate on than trying to cross-reference all if the information on travel into and out of the cities for the past few days.'

'That it will,' Elizabeth replied. 'Let's go and find someone who can get us started on this. With any luck, there'll be more than a grain of truth to these dreams, and we'll be able to retrieve some more of our personnel.'

So they emerged from their room into a quiet corridor, and began the search for someone who could get the investigation underway.

oooOOOooo

In the cargo craft, Sheppard, who had been drifting in and out of a fevered sleep, felt the transporter slowing and forced his eyes open. Peering out from behind the crates, he expected to see the Stargate through the windshield, but instead he saw a large expanse of landscape, green grassland with rolling hills and mountainous rises stretching out as far as the eye could see. He wondered why the man was stopping here. This was the land between...dangerous territory. Didn't this guy know the kinds of things that lived out here?

The man sat staring out of the windshield, his arms hanging slack at his sides. Unmoving. Wiping the perspiration from his eyes, Sheppard shifted position, rising to a crouch on shaky legs that protested at the strain – watching him. What the hell was this guy doing?

After a moment or two had passed, the pilot rose from his seat and turned in his direction. Sheppard could see a strange glazed look in his eyes, one that was very familiar. He'd seen the same thing when the sensory had momentarily borrowed Lanae's mind to speak to him. Could the sensory perhaps still communicate from the other side? If he could, Sheppard couldn't help but think it could have waited until they were in a safer spot. His hand slipped down to the knife at his side, gripping it as tightly as his sweaty palm would allow.

'I know you're hiding back there, slave,' the man called, his deep voice echoing around the cargo hold. 'I can smell your fear.'

_Nice cliché, _Sheppard thought, resisting the urge to snort out a laugh. So, not the sensory then? That left only one other person he knew who would want the pilot to find him. He stayed hidden. From what the sensory had told him, control could only be maintained for short bursts of time. With any luck, the magistra would lose her hold on the man before he found him, and he'd have no memory of what she'd said, just as Lanea had forgotten what she'd said the moment her own mind had returned.

But, of course, his luck never ran that smoothly. The man strode toward him, pulling out a cattle prod, peering around each crate in turn. Sheppard tried to blank his mind so the magistra wouldn't know exactly where he was, but he was weak and sick and he doubted he could keep her out if she was determined to find him.

A few seconds later the man was upon him, the trance state clearing, and he was left staring down at him with a mixture of shock and anger. Knowing he was at a disadvantage because of his fever, Sheppard launched at him while the man struggled with the confusion of finding himself in the cargo hold instead of the pilot chair. He and the mystified man bowled around in the hold, Sheppard first landing a punch, but then being thrown clear when the guy gave him a huge shock to the stomach. He came at the guy again, hoping to subdue him, but the man shocked him once more, making him fall back. He gasped in desperately needed breath and appealed to the pilot's humanity.

'Look, I don't want any trouble, buddy. You just carry on through the gate and I'll come along for the ride. What d'you say?' he panted, clutching at his newly fried skin.

The man eyed him up and down with obvious distaste. 'You're an escaped slave. If I take you through the gate and anyone finds out, I'll be held accountable. So I say you're getting off my ship.'

He lunged at Sheppard, who managed to throw himself to the side and narrowly avoid another shock from the cattle prod.

'You do know we're at risk of getting eaten out here, right? We need to get airborne, so why don't you take us up and we can talk about this like civilised people?'

The pilot jabbed at him, and again, he barely avoided the contact. But he was sweating profusely now, his clothes clinging to him from the effort of making just those few moves. He wouldn't be able to keep this up for long before his body called for a time-out.

'C'mon, buddy. Think about it!' Sheppard all but begged him, but the guy lunged again, and, deciding he couldn't waste any more time, Sheppard thrust out at him, stabbing his blade deep into the front of the man's shoulder and rendering his weapon arm useless.

The pilot dropped the cattle prod, staggering back against the interior of the hull and clutching his wound, blood oozing out through his fingers. 'You lousy little runt. You can't do this to me!'

Wiping sweat from his forehead, Sheppard kicked the man over, pulling off his belt and securing his wrists behind his back with it. 'You left me no choice. All I wanted to do was go through the gate, but you had to go all high and mighty on me.'

He pulled out his own belt and secured the man's ankles, shutting his mind against the pain in his arm as he worked, not to mention the underlying malaise beginning to sap every last ounce of strength from his limbs.

'Right. Now we have it clear who's in charge here, I'll explain how this is gonna play out,' Sheppard told him, picking up the cattle prod the pilot had dropped and wagging it his way. 'I'm gonna fly this ship to the gate and you're gonna give me the code I need to dial the gate and get off this god-forsaken planet.'

The pilot just smirked at him, as if he found the suggestion laughable. Okay, so he probably wasn't going to give over the code easily, but Sheppard wasn't averse to using violence when the situation called for it, and he figured this one did. Once they were at the 'gate, he'd make sure the guy reconsidered his stance. He backed up to the pilot seat, keeping the man in his sights until the very last moment when he slipped into it, tossing his knife and cattle prod onto the dash for safe-keeping. Scanning the controls, he quickly worked out where the primary functions lay and tried to set the craft running.

Nothing happened.

So, he tried again, but the result was the same. The ship lay dormant, completely unresponsive. Behind him, the pilot started to laugh. 'The ship's been programmed to work for me and me alone until I complete my flight. You can't move it.'

Swearing under his breath, Sheppard retrieved his knife from the top of the control panel where he'd laid it for safekeeping. 'Okay, then I guess you're going to fly this ship to the Stargate for me –'

'I'll die before I'll do what a slave tells me.'

'That can be arranged,' Sheppard grunted through gritted teeth. He hoped the guy was suitably weakened by the knife wound he'd inflicted not to take him down once he'd untied him. Still, since he wasn't exactly in top form himself, there was always the chance –

The ground shook beneath the ship.

'Oh, crap!' Sheppard breathed. They'd been sitting there too long, or they'd made too much noise while fighting for control of the ship. Either way, they'd drawn one of those tunnelling creatures toward them.

'A purraet! Cut me free!' the pilot begged, and Sheppard was about to when the ground erupted and they were both thrown to the back of the ship as it tipped, slamming into the back wall. The momentum made the ship continue to tilt, and it ended up tipping backwards onto its roof, throwing them and the heavy crates all over the place.

For once, Sheppard's luck was in, but not so the pilot. One of the crates smashed down onto the upper half of his body, and from the amount of blood instant pooling out from under it, Sheppard knew the man was now burger meat.

Sheppard quickly rallied, adrenaline surging through him and giving him a new lease of life. He crawled toward the hatch, hitting the control to open it, but it was unresponsive. Apparently, nothing on this ship worked without the pilot's input. Great, so now he was a sitting duck? Who had he been kidding to think he was the lucky one?

A thump against the side of the ship sent it spinning, as if Sheppard wasn't dizzy enough already. He did his best to wedge himself into a corner formed between a bulkhead and the hull and hoped the centrifugal forces didn't send any of the crates his way. Thankfully, the spin wasn't fast enough for that to happen, though it didn't do much for the colonel's mounting nausea. When the rotating stopped, Sheppard staggered forward and began searching through the chaos for something he might be able to force the hatch with. The metal bars spilling out of the fractured crate were too bulky for the job. What he needed was something slimmer, perhaps even the knife if he could find the thing in all the mess.

The craft jolted again, then the sound of crumpling metal ripped through the air, vibrating painfully in his eardrums. The craft's hull began to buckle, under the pressure of the creature's jaws, the seal around the door now failing and letting in daylight. Not that it helped, because the purraet was tipping the craft up and he was sliding away from it.

The next thing he knew, the craft was airborne, tossed aside like a discarded dog chew. Momentarily stunned as he smacked into the side of the craft, Sheppard only just moved in time as a crate, along with the mangled remains of the pilot spilled toward him. Forcing himself to stay focused, he forged his way up the gradient back toward the bent door, kicking it hard, his adrenaline now the only thing keeping him going as he was seized by cold sweats and trembling. The infection Bathraen's drugs had been keeping at bay was returning with a vengeance, but he couldn't let it get the better of him now.

Unfortunately, his frenetic activity attracted the purraet back to the craft it had thrown away, and it grabbed hold of the craft in its jaws again, biting down on it and crushing the hold around him as he continued his assault on his only hope of exit. The roof began to press down on him, bowing and breaking under the strain. It forced him down on his back while he kicked for all he was worth, using his arms to hold himself in place as the transport was tilted first one way, then another. He could have fainted from sheer relief when the door eventually popped out of its setting under the stress of both his efforts and those of the ravenous beast. Instead, he slithered out of what gap remained just as the creature shut it down completely, dropping to the ground and then digging deep into what little energy he had left to run for the only possible place of safety he could see in the vicinity – a small copse of trees. Thankfully, distracted by its meal, the creature didn't seem to hear him go, and before it had finished mauling the cargo ship, he had safely secured himself in the bough of the tallest tree there, for above the ground, and hopefully out of sight.

From that safe spot, he watched the complete destruction of the vessel that he had only moments before been aboard. The beast was huge and covered in matted thick, black fur, it slavering maw filled with razor sharp teeth, and with claws longer than a human leg on its two broad front paws, which it used to drag the ship toward its waiting jaws. The colonel wrapped his arms around himself and trembled as the creature tore the ship apart and threw various sections here and there, swallowing some, perhaps those daubed with more blood, and discarding others, eventually finding the tasty morsel of crushed pilot and throwing him back with a great smacking of its drool-encrusted lips. Then, with no other sounds attracting its attention it dug its way back underground, journeying away from him.

Laying his head back against the branch he was leaning on, Sheppard closed his eyes and let go of the breath he'd been holding, trying to figure out how the hell he was going to get out of this mess, alone in an area far from help and patrolled by hungry purraets that seemed to hunt just about everything that moved out there. And he'd thought the possibility of ending up with the Callaedins was his biggest problem...

oooOOOooo

With droplets of water dripping from her ringlets of red hair down onto her clean white smock, Ishraela looked the epitome of a normal, happy, healthy child, if it weren't for her odd colouring. Rodney watched in morbid fascination as she demolished a bowl of oatmeal type cereals, the food barely having time to touch the sides of her throat as she crammed in one spoonful after another, until the bowl was empty.

Smiling with genuine amusement, Bathraen lifted the bowl from in front of her. 'More?' he asked, to which she nodded her emphatic agreement.

'Dr McKay, would you like some?'

'Hmm? Oh, yes...yes, please,' Rodney replied, pulling out the seat opposite the child and waiting for his serving to arrive.

Bathraen placed both bowls down on the table at the same time, but despite Rodney's own considerable hunger, the child had almost finished that second helping before he'd eaten more than a few mouthfuls.

'So, I'm guessing you haven't eaten much lately,' he said, watching her covetously eyeing his breakfast.

'It's been a couple of days. We weren't sure exactly when John would have his chance to leave the Tranaedans, and I had to stay near the house to be sure I could help him when he needed me. I only managed to grab a few scraps from their kitchen, not really enough to stop me feeling hungry.'

Figuring he owed her some thanks for looking out for his friend, Rodney, in an uncharacteristic gesture of generosity, pushed his own bowl toward her. 'Here, I figure you've earned that.'

'Thanks,' she beamed, and he forced on a smile for her as he watched her dig in again.

Thankfully, Bathraen soon had more food on the table, his mood bright and much lighter than Rodney had noticed before. Clearly, the news this child had brought him had lifted a great weight from his shoulders. He sat with them, laughing as the child swiped up a hot, buttered bread cake and began to devour it.

Rodney picked one up for himself and did his own swift job of finishing it off. His benevolence only stretched so far, and now he was worried he wouldn't get any food at all if he didn't make a grab for something.

'So, Ishraela. Where is Colonel Sheppard headed...exactly?' Rodney asked as she munched on another piece of bread she'd seized upon.

Licking butter from her fingers, her eyes never left her food as she answered. 'I can't tell you. Not until he gets there. If I do, _she_ might find out and try to stop him.'

'She? She who?' Rodney pressed.

'Magistra Tranaedan. If it's in your head, she might get to it.'

'Oh right, but she can't get it from you?'

'No.'

Rodney narrowed his eyes. 'Why not?'

'Because I'm smarter than you,' she told him, matter-of-fact.

Indignant, Rodney sat up poker straight in his seat. 'I'll have you know, young lady, I'm the smartest man in two galaxies!'

'But you don't know the kind of things I know,' she told him. 'I know you're going home soon.'

'Oh, really?' McKay smirked, folding his arms defiantly. 'Well, I could have guessed that much myself. I was the one who came up with the idea to get your people to tell my people where we all were.'

She just blinked back at him, picking up another piece of bread cake. 'And who do you think gave you the idea?'

A flush of angry colour rushed to his cheeks at the insinuation he hadn't been quite as smart as he thought. 'Well...well, that's easy for you to say now. You're probably making that up.'

'Dr McKay, are you really going to argue with the child when the end is in sight?' Bathraen chuckled, pouring the little girl a glass of what looked like orange juice.

He was about to pour some into McKay's glass, too, but the scientist quickly covered it to stop him. If the end was in sight, there was absolutely no way he was going to fall foul of one of his allergies and miss out on it. 'Just tell me where he is so we can pick him up.'

'All you need to know, Rodney, is that the people John is heading to are good and he will be safe...with...the –'

McKay watched as a change came over the child, her hands dropping limply to her sides and her eyes rolling back in her head as she gently shook in her seat.

'Wha...what's wrong with her? Is she having a seizure?' he squeaked, trying to recall any basic first aid training Carson had ever given him. In truth, the doctor hadn't shown him much, and Rodney supposed that might have something to do with his constant belittling of medicine as a science whenever the two of them got together for a training session.

'It's not a seizure...it's a vision,' Bathraen explained, seemingly unconcerned for the child's welfare. Since he'd raised that Tranaedan woman from childhood, Rodney supposed he'd seen all this before.

'Oh, no. This is not good...this is not good,' the little girl cried, tears springing into her amber eyes as she began to focus on them again.

'What's not good?' Rodney demanded frantically, his sense of imminent doom now shifting to red alert. 'What did you see?'

'Something went wrong. The ship John was on has been destroyed. He's out alone in the lands between and cannot reach safety and needs our help.'

Rodney turned his gaze on the physician, who gaped open-mouthed at the tearful child, and then at him. 'I am so sorry, Dr McKay,' he breathed, sadly shaking his head. 'If he is alone out there without transport, then he is unlikely to survive.'

Though panicking, Rodney knew he was probably the only person currently in a position to do anything to save his friend. Setting his jaw, he growled. 'Then you'd better think of some way we can get a transport out to him, and you'd better think of it fast.'


	30. Chapter 30

**A/N: Once again, I'd like to take the opportunity to thank those taking the time to leave reviews; they are very much appreciated. :D**

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**Chapter 30 **

Still harboured in the welcoming arms of his safe haven, Sheppard drifted in and out of consciousness. He'd wedged himself into the thicker branches of the tree so he couldn't fall out and create enough noise to attract the purraet back to him. If he was going to die out here, it would be under his own terms, and he certainly didn't choose to become an overgrown rodent's next meal.

He was baking hot, a mixture of the warm day and the fever now burning through him. He would have given anything for just a little water right then, but he was miles from anywhere and anyone, and he couldn't see a water source despite his high vantage point, even if he'd dared to climb down and approach it.

'_That didn't go quite the way I foresaw it,' _a familiar voice chimed in.

Sheppard forced open his eyes, the faint figure of the sensory sitting amongst the branches with him.

So, he'd reached the delirious stage of his sickness. Well, that was okay, he could use the company. 'No, I suspected not,' he replied with a chuckle.

'You fought valiantly to survive the purraet attack. I knew I'd picked wisely when I chose you of all your comrades to complete this task.'

'Except I didn't complete it. So...maybe not so wise.'

The sensory smiled sagely. 'I haven't given up on you yet.'

Sheppard burst into an inane peel of laughter. This had to be a delusion, his failing mind trying to convince him he wasn't going to die as if it thought sheer stubbornness could get him through this...and, to be frank, it had done in the past. But not this time. He dropped his head back against the branch and closed his eyes again, willing the apparition to disappear.

'I didn't factor in the likelihood that you would weaken mentally because of your illness,' the sensory continued, his voice buzzing away in the background like an intrusive fly. 'Magistra Tranaedan must have connected with you and gained enough information of your whereabouts to use it against you.'

Sheppard felt the sun on his face, but his body shivered in complete contradiction to what should have been the effect of its healing rays. He wrapped his arms tighter around himself and wedged himself tighter into his niche. 'Yeah, and since you're here can I point out that it would've been useful if you'd told me she was one of the afflicted before you went and died on me. It's not like she looks like one of you guys.'

'No, that's true,' the sensory agreed. 'But if you think about it, you already know how she manages that. The chemicals in the bath...the bluest eyes you've ever seen...'

'Skin lightening?'

'And contact lenses,' the sensory nodded.

'And I'm guessing she dyes her hair.'

'Just so. And since such beauty regimes are normal amongst the wealthy in Traginta Duo, keeping up her normal appearance has been easy for her. No one would ever suspect her of being one of my kind.'

Sheppard's head ached and images fired up in his mind, visions of the magistra down in that dismal cell the sensory had been imprisoned in, grovelling in the soil and guzzling vital liquids from the hydration pipe she'd disconnected from the tortured man while he'd lived there. The tainted water poured from the corners of her mouth, down over her throat, and she sighed as if the contact with those things brought her some level of contentment...or perhaps that should be strength.

'She uses the soil and water to replenish the iron in her system. Without it, her abilities would lessen over time.'

'No kidding. But if she is one of your kind, who helped her fit in in the first place? Someone has to know the truth.'

'Curan Bathraen took her under his wing. He helped her learn to disguise herself to fit in.'

'Now there's a name that just keeps cropping up.'

'I'm sorry I couldn't tell you of her history,' the imaginary sensory told him. 'If she had suspected that you knew her true origins, she might have stopped you leaving.'

'Yeah, so instead she made the pilot stop his craft in a dangerous area and now I'm stuck up a tree slowly dying of dehydration and infection. I can see how much better that turned out. Thanks.'

The sensory laughed, soon straightening his face when Sheppard shot him a furious glare. 'I'm truly sorry that you are forced to endure this, John. And there will be worse to come before this ends.'

'There's a surprise,' Sheppard snorted. He cracked an eye open to peer at his companion, finding him still as clear as the moment he'd first appeared to him. Apparently, no amount of wishing was going to make him disappear. 'Why am I even talking to you? You're dead.'

'Do you have something against dead people?' the sensory smiled back at him.

'Only the ones that won't go away and leave me alone when I ask 'em to.'

The sensory leaned in close, his full injuries on show through his shredded clothes. They made Sheppard's own wounds look rather insignificant, and set his already delicate stomach churning. 'I won't abandon you, John. There is still hope for you...and for my people and all those enslaved on this planet. But you have to go back to the city.'

'The city? Would that be the city you insisted I had to get out of when I last saw you?'

'Yes. The new future is revealing itself with every passing second. Your rescuers are soon to head to Traginta Duo. You need to be there for them to find.'

That comment forced Sheppard's second eye to open in wonder. 'Uh, okay. I can see how going back there might be good. But, if you hadn't noticed, we're stuck up a tree in the middle of nowhere and if I touch the ground I'm gonna be purraet fodder.'

'I know. I didn't say returning wouldn't have its risks. But help is on the way.'

That little nugget of information got Sheppard's full attention. 'Help...as in my people?'

'Eventually, yes.'

'But not now?'

'I would rather not say...'

'Jeez, does everyone on this planet enjoy screwing with my head?' Sheppard screamed out. Then he stopped himself. If he did want to become that monster's next meal, he was going the right way about it, cracking up while talking to a dead man miles away from help. No, if he was going to die out here, it would be under his own terms, quietly and with no more pain than he was already suffering. He was definitely not going to take advice from any hallucinations dreamed up by his over-heating brain.

'Just go away,' he begged, curling more into himself to try to find some warmth for his freezing cold hands. 'I let you die with dignity, now do the same for me.'

For a second or two the sensory didn't respond, and Sheppard began to hope that the delusion had finally vanished. Then the words he'd both longed for and dreaded floated over to him. 'I cannot. This is not your time to die, John Sheppard. There is still much you need to do.'

He forced open his lids again, the sensory seeming in complete earnest. 'You're just saying that.'

'I'm not lying, John. And it is not only the peoples of Haraendon who need your help. Dark times lie ahead for Atlantis, and they will need your unique qualities more than ever if the city is to survive. You must fight on, not only for us, but for your own people.'

Sheppard wanted to believe this was the sensory speaking, that he really was that important, but part of him suspected it was his failing ego firing up one last challenge to keep him going. There were plenty of people who could step into his shoes, and probably cause a whole heap less trouble in the process.

He looked out across the shimmering plains, rippling in the heat of the sun, and in the distance watched the sunlight glint off a craft. Was that to be his means of rescue? But what good could going back to the city do him anyway? As an escaped slave he would be thrown in prison, killed or returned to the Tranaedans, which amounted to the same thing now. For the briefest of moments, he considered heading for Traginta and handing himself over to the Callaedins but he couldn't bear to seriously contemplate what might happen to him there. Death was definitely the more acceptable alternative.

'You will face a truly difficult time if you see this through, John Sheppard. I will not tell you what will come because...' Sheppard looked up at him when he paused, and the sensory smiled again, nodding. 'You already know the reason why.'

Yes, because this was likely to be even more hellish than what he'd already been put through. He instinctively knew that from the old man's refusal to elaborate.

'But you will survive, as will many others who will not if you choose to die out here.'

Sheppard couldn't resist a chuckle at that, even though it made his lungs ache. 'Nice guilt trip. Thanks for that.'

'You're most welcome.'

He stared back at the old man, semi-transparent in the morning light, and shook his head. 'I can't believe I'm even considering taking advice from a dead guy.'

'Dead or alive, I am just the same person. I may not have a body, but my spirit lives on.'

'Did you ascend?' Sheppard asked him, another question forming in his mind.

'In a way, but no, I am not an Ancient. You are far closer to the Ancestors than I will ever be. And that is why Atlantis needs you.'

The glint from the craft in the distance caught his eye again, the only transport in sight. He pushed forward, watching it a while, wondering if, just maybe, he might stumble across one good soul in this freakish hellhole. After all, McKay had managed to land on his feet, just like that damned cat of his he'd been so fond of.

'Go on, John. I promise you all will work out for the best.'

Setting his jaw, Sheppard gave the apparition a sharp nod, then threw himself into the plan, falling rather than climbing out of the tree, but by now so weak and achy that he barely felt the scrapes of the branches or the impact.

'Walk softly and the purraet might not hear you,' the sensory called after him.

'May not?' Sheppard muttered ruefully, unable to conceal a crooked grin. 'I'll take those odds.'

He walked in a "straight if you've had one too many" kind of line toward the oncoming craft, all the time the sensory's promise that all would be well echoing around in his fevered brain. He stumbled and fell to one knee, keeping still and hardly daring to breath for fear that a single noise so soon after that and his tumble from the tree could bring the underground beast a-calling. The purraets detected their prey from surface noise; he had to be more careful.

Once certain he could feel no vibrations in the ground beneath him, he pushed up again and began walking, slowly, deliberately, trying to concentrate on stopping his legs from buckling while blinking the perspiration from his eyes so he could see where he was going.

The craft was getting nearer, and he was certain now that whoever was on board had seen him. So this was it, his last great hope of saving the sub-classes and getting the hell off this dung-heap of a planet. Figuring he'd done the necessary legwork, he rooted himself to the spot and locked his knees, focusing all his efforts into staying upright for the sake of saving what little dignity he still possessed. And oddly, right at that moment, all he could think of was how glad he was not to be wearing that stupid, shiny pilot uniform. Oh, his priorities were seriously shot to hell if that was his biggest issue right now.

Pushing that thought aside, he stood his ground, wavering a little in the heat, but managing what he felt sure was a convincingly competent attempt at looking unconcerned at the approaching vessel. When it eventually drew up in front of him, he could see it was a banged up old jalopy of a ship, patched and repaired from various other craft.

Three men jumped out in front of him, appraising him. They didn't speak at first, two of them just standing stock still as they looked him over, the other circling around him. Much as he hated to have his back to anyone he didn't know, the continuing echo of the sensory's pledge helped him keep his nerve. The man behind him arrived back in his face now, his head completely devoid of hair, his skin brown and weathered from an outdoor life.

'Looks like someone's in trouble,' he said to his companions, turning his head just enough to show he was talking to his companions, but not enough to break eye contact with him.

Sheppard tried to concentrate on them, noticing their clothes were in a poor state, and filthy, too. Were these the bandits he'd heard so much of? If they lived outside the confines of the city, he supposed it would be hard to get new clothes and a good haircut. The other two guys looked like they'd been cutting their hair with a cheese wire. Cue Ball definitely had the right idea.

'So, what are you doing out here, friend?' the bald man, clearly some kind of designated leader, asked him.

Sheppard really didn't like people he didn't know calling him friend. He hadn't liked it when Ashnael had first done it, and he liked it even less now. It was one of those lines meant to lull him into a false sense of security, but not this time. This time it put him on heightened alert.

'The transporter I was travelling on crashed. I need to head to Traginta Duo. Don't suppose you guys are going that way?'

He squinted against the sun, getting a familiar sinking feeling as the lead guy's two dumbass cohorts started to cackle, a sound more reminiscent of two hippos calling to one another than any laughter he'd ever heard before. This was not going to end well, any idiot could see that.

'Where's your ship?' Cue Ball demanded, scanning the area behind Sheppard.

'Well, there's not much of it left,' Sheppard told him, looking that way himself now. 'If you look closely enough you might find the odd nut or bolt, but most of it was eaten.'

'A purraet got it? That's a terrible waste,' the man snorted. 'Were there many others on board?'

'Just one...he didn't make it.'

The man looked around at his friends, grinning like the cat that got the cream, and Sheppard suddenly found himself wishing he'd managed to keep hold of that knife Ishraela had given him.

'Well, lucky for us, you did,' he growled, his pitch now dropping from its earlier lightness. 'Looks like we got some meat for dinner tonight, boys.'

Only now did Sheppard realise that the stains down the front of the man's tattered tunic included what looked like dried up bloodstains. So, he wasn't going to get eaten by a purraet, but he was now on the bandits' dinner menu. In what way was this ending well for anyone? Sometimes, he got the distinct feeling his life was just part of some great big cosmic joke.

oooOOOooo

'Why would you want to go to Traginta Duo?' First Minister Thalaezin asked them as they sat before his great metal desk once more.

'Why wouldn't we?' Elizabeth countered, giving him a hard stare.

Lorne recognised the signs that Dr Weir had reached the end of her generally long tether and hoped Thalaezin did, too. If he didn't, things just might get very ugly, very soon.

'Please, don't take my question the wrong way, it's just that with one hundred cities to choose from, I have to wonder why that is where you're choosing to start.'

Though Lorne thought she was about to tell Thalaezin to mind his own business, which was exactly what he felt like saying, Elizabeth kept her cool and gave the first minister a clipped but polite explanation. 'We received a communication last night that told us at least two of our missing personnel are located there.'

'Really? Was there any more detail than that?' he asked, suddenly intrigued.

'We have the name of two households – Tranaedan and Bathraen.'

'Bathraen...in Traginta Duo?'

Lorne picked up on his tone immediately. 'You know the name?'

'Curan Bathraen is well known to us...but I find it difficult to believe he would be involved in kidnapping your people. In the past, he's been a strong advocate for the abolishment of slavery.'

'In the past?' Lorne pressed.

Thalaezin smirked in a way that made Lorne want to knock it right off his face. 'He was somewhat of a lone voice, and without support, his ardour was easily extinguished.'

Lorne had met a lot of men like him in his time, and by now should have been able to curb his responses, but this guy was really starting to get to him. 'And you think that's something to be proud of?'

'If we could stay focused here, gentleman,' Elizabeth interrupted, pulling them both back to the matter at hand. 'Whatever this man may or may not have done, we want to meet both him and the Tranaedans as soon as possible.'

'We can't just go around accusing people of kidnapping, Dr Weir. Where did you get you information from? We monitored no communications to you last night.'

Again, Lorne felt his hackles rise. 'Not that you were checking up on us.'

'As a matter of security, we monitor all visitors in the same way. I'm sure you understand.'

Narrowing his eyes and adjusting his P-90, Lorne replied, 'Yeah, I understand.'

'So can we see these people or not?' Elizabeth said sharply, cutting through the building tension between the two men.

'I must confess, I am reluctant to disturb the Tranaedans. The magister is a pillar of our community. He oversees the mining programme on Haraendon.'

Lorne saw Elizabeth's face change at that point, she too now narrowing her eyes and setting her face in a rigid mask of defiance. 'I don't care if this man runs every business on your planet, his name was centremost to the information we received last night. We need to speak to him.'

'Information from whom?' Thalaezin asked, repeating his question. 'If I was able to verify the source of your information, I might feel more comfortable about harassing respected members of our society.'

Taking a deep breath, Elizabeth furnished him with the explanation he desired. 'We think our people may have found a way to utilise a method your people must have developed for communicating subconsciously. We each had the same dream last night, the same dream containing the same details. I'm sure you agree that has to be more than coincidence.'

Rather than agreeing, Thalaezin looked absolutely horrified. 'Subconscious communications? Nothing like that exists in the Centum Civis. Only...' he paused, as if even saying the words he was thinking might make the situation all the more disgusting to him. '...only the afflicted can do such a thing...are you saying they contacted you?'

The way he curled his lip as he said 'the afflicted' told Lorne he had a particular distaste for them, and he had to wonder why.

'We saw some people in our dreams, Elizabeth conceded. 'Strange looking people...if they're what you call 'the afflicted, then yes, we were contacted by them.'

'They...they cannot be trusted. They are not like us...they can do things that no normal person can...'

'Such as communicate information to us in our dreams?' Lorne asked. He'd had a tempestuous relationship with sleep and dreams in his youth, and he knew how powerfully they could affect a person at a subconscious level. The mind was a strange thing, and he had no reason to believe there was no way communication couldn't take place on that level, unusual as it was.

'It's most likely lies. They can do that, lie to and influence people...that is why we keep them away from us –'

'In those enclosures in the Forbidden Zones,' the major suddenly realised. The afflicted had to be who he'd heard behind those vast walls when searching for Sheppard's team.

'Yes...they are dangerous...they have to be kept in isolation...I had no idea they could communicate this far.'

'Perhaps they only do it when they feel they might be listened to,' Elizabeth suggested over her now folded arms.

'No...this is deceit...perhaps your minds are weaker...more susceptible...'

Elizabeth arched an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed at the implication that she was weak-minded. 'Whatever _you_ think of these "afflicted", they have given us more information in one dream than you have passed on to us in days...and considering your track record, I'm not sure you have any right to be calling them liars, do you?'

Though he hadn't thought it possible, Lorne watched Thalaezin's face colour up still more at her accusation.

'I insist you let us investigate those households,' Elizabeth finished, chin held high, gaze fixed firmly on the first minister as she awaited his reaction.

Some of the previous fear left him, his arrogance returning to replace it. 'You insist,' the man almost sneered in return.

'Yes, I do. Please don't make me show you how I can do that.'

Elizabeth's steely gaze continued to blaze into Thalaezin, and the major saw his resistance fading. 'Let me just carry out a few checks first...see if there is any record of either of these households taking on new slaves...'

'All right, but Major Lorne and Dr Zelenka will accompany you while you do that. I'm sure you understand,' she said, her tone making it clear the matter was not up for debate.

Clearly annoyed to have his own words thrown back at him, Thalaezin looked pained, but was forced to agree. 'Very well. This way, gentlemen.'

Lorne allowed Zelenka to leave the room ahead of him, keeping him in his sights where he could better protect the little scientist. The man scurried along, looking as much like a startled rabbit as he always did, sending furtive glances the major's way from time to time. Lorne just kept on walking, taking everything in, on the lookout for the slightest sign of danger.

Once they were in amongst the personnel in the data office, Lorne left the actual observations to Zelenka, while he watched the room itself. If they were getting close to the truth, this could be the time the government chose to pull the rug out from under their feet.

'Ah...see, there!' he suddenly heard Zelenka pipe up after a few minutes of checking. 'Major Lorne, the records show that the Tranaedan household have taken on not one, but two new slaves in the past few days. Though one, a pilot, has gone missing. The description on the all-cities bulletin recorded here fits Colonel Sheppard.'

'And Bathraen?'

'One moment,' the Czech said, holding up a finger to stay him as he watched data scrolling in the screen in front of him. Lorne watched the reflections flashing past on the scientist's glasses, waiting for him to reply. 'Yes...yes...here it is. Curan Bathraen took possession of a slave on the same day the Tranaedans took ownership of their pilot.'

Lorne stared at Thalaezin, gauging his reaction. 'So, First Minister. I think we can call that evidence, don't you?'

Thalaezin's expression was difficult to read. Then, he turned and strode back out of the room, heading back toward his office with Lorne and Zelenka running to catch up with him. When he reached his destination, he threw open the door and all the self-righteous indignation he'd been bottling up for the past several days came rushing out of him.

'I don't know what kind of people you are used to dealing with, Dr Weir, but I have no intention of letting you or your minions push me around a moment longer. I want you out of this city. If you wish to trust the machinations of the afflicted, then we can no longer work together on this problem. I am officially withdrawing our help.'

Elizabeth didn't even bother to talk to him, looking straight past him to Lorne.

'We found records of both households obtaining new slaves in the past few days. Three of them. But it sounds like the colonel may have escaped,' he explained, instinctively knowing the information was what she was waiting for.

'Escaped?'

'Apparently there was some attack on the Tranaedan household last night and he's now listed as missing. An all-cities bulletin has been issued on him. Just about everyone should be looking for him now.'

'Thank you, Major,' Elizabeth nodded, her face clouded. 'So, let me get this straight, First Minister. You're happy to help us until we come up with a firm lead, and then when we do, you shut us down?'

'I do not intend to debate the matter. I will give you the necessary permissions to leave the city and to exit via the Stargate, and then I consider this matter closed.'

'What about the help we can offer you with your planet's medical problem?' she asked, narrowing her eyes.

'We have many talented doctors of our own,' he assured her. 'My concern right now is that I have off-worlders moving amongst my own people who can be so easily influenced by the afflicted. As I said, I have no wish to make your exit difficult, but I cannot allow you to stay any longer.'

'And what about our missing people? Aren't you worried they might be influenced, too.'

'The moment your people are located, they will be returned to you...if they are ever located.'

Lorne knew Weir would not take that lying down, so he just stood back and let her do her thing, happy to wait for her signal that she needed any help from him.

'The thing is, First Minister Thalaezin, we neither need nor require your permission to move about this planet, because we have the technologies required to do both with ease. So far, we've played by your rules, because I wanted to show you some respect, but, believe me, it doesn't have to stay that way.'

'Lies,' he spat, a sneer curling his lip. 'You and your people should leave now, before I change my mind.'

'What, and induct us into your programme?' she asked, glaring at him over folded arms.

'We will fit you into our society wherever your skills can be best used.'

'I'll take that as a yes,' she growled, closing down the distance between them. 'I think it's time you understood just who you are dealing with, Thalaezin. Why don't we take a look out of your window?'

'I don't have time for this nonsense –'

Elizabeth cast a quick glance Lorne's way, and he grasped the man by the back of the neck and frogmarched him to the window behind Dr Weir.

'Thank you, Major,' she said, staring off toward where the city's gates stood. 'Now, could you contact Lieutenant Harding and ask him to pick an uninhabited spot not too far from here and demonstrate how serious we are when we say we don't need to do this the quiet way?'

He smirked, watching Thalaezin's face drop. 'Yes, Ma'am.'

He radioed the instruction through to Harding. A few moments later, a drone fired out into the air and shot out into the unoccupied lands beyond the city walls. A huge fireball exploded, clearly visible to everyone at that window. Lorne felt the man flinch in his grip, but even then, he remained defiant.

'But your ship is outside of our city. Your weapons will not get in through our shields.'

Now it was Elizabeth's turn to smirk. 'And you think your shields could stop a drone, because I assure you, they can't. And if you still think we're lying,' she nodded to Lorne and he gave the order to the two manned jumpers cloaked outside the government building to reveal themselves, 'We have three more of them inside your city already. We can take out your shield generators and your walls without even breaking into a sweat. So, if you insist, we'll leave your city, but we won't be going back to our planet. We'll be flying straight to Traginta Duo, where we will use whatever means are necessary to gain entry and rescue our people. Now, I don't imagine the peoples of Traginta Duo are going to be too happy when we start tearing the place apart around them, do you? I imagine that when they know it was within your power to prevent it, you might soon find yourself out of a job.'

The first minister swallowed audibly, pulling himself out from under Lorne's hand. 'This is unacceptable...this is intimidation!'

'You bet it is,' Elizabeth agreed, 'and, believe me, I'm just getting started.'

With a sigh, the first minister finally relented. 'Very well. I and some of my associates will travel with you and intercede with Magister Tranaedan. He isn't renowned for his good humour.'

Lorne watched Elizabeth arch an eyebrow as she listened to his excuses. He knew the thought this Tranaedan guy might try to chew her another one wouldn't deter her for a second.

'Well, I look forward to meeting him,' she said calmly. 'Dr Zelenka, I think it might be an idea if Lieutenant Harding takes you back to the DHD. I want you to disable that device we found so if Colonel Sheppard somehow finds his way to the gate before we locate him, he can get himself to safety. And then I want you to go look for Teyla. Since it seems the information the afflicted have given us so far was accurate, I don't think you'll have any trouble finding her.'

Zelenka nodded, and Lorne radioed the info through to Harding, still waiting for further instructions.

'Oh, and First Minister,' Elizabeth continued as they all headed for the door. 'If I think for a second that you've communicated our intention to search for our personnel to either household before our arrival, I will not be held responsible for the actions of my men. I've done everything I can to rein them in so far, but their patience is at its end now.'

Thalaezin flashed a look at Lorne, and he pinned on his most threatening scowl, right on cue. The first minister nodded his understanding, and then led the way from the room, looking suitably chastened at last. As Elizabeth passed Lorne, she could no longer suppress her smirk, though she quickly mastered it again before anyone else could see it. Much as she might like to advocate peaceful methods of negotiation, she clearly relished a fight just as much as he did when properly provoked.


	31. Chapter 31

**A/N: Once again, thanks to all of you taking the time to comment. It's good to hear your thoughts. :)**

* * *

**Chapter 31 **

Rodney watched anxiously through the windshield of Bathraen's transport as the doctor stood at the gates talking to the facilitators.

After an hour of begging, pleading and straight out ranting, McKay had finally persuaded him to pull together what remained of his money to offer as a bribe to the facilitators. It had taken some doing, the physician clearly terrified by the thought of putting himself on the line, but after reminding him that Sheppard wouldn't be in the terrible danger he was in if it weren't for the part he'd played in his initial kidnapping, Bathraen had felt guilt-ridden enough to act. That and the promise that applying his tallots might indirectly buy the emancipation of his beloved slaves and the afflicted had been enough for him to collect together the roughly three thousand tallots he had remaining in his safe and agree to Rodney's plan.

Though the gates were still shut, Rodney chose to be uncharacteristically optimistic. The three facilitators hadn't seized Bathraen, yet, and actually seemed to be listening to his request for their help. That had to be a good sign...didn't it?

'This is gonna work, this is gonna work,' Rodney chanted to himself, as if the very act of constant repetition would make it true.

Eventually, he watched Bathraen reach into his pocket and pull out a small bag of money. He and the facilitator he had spoken to the most placed a hand on each other's opposite shoulder and dipped their heads, then the physician headed back onto the craft, closing the hatch behind him as he let go of a huge sigh of relief.

'It worked...at least, they are willing to open the gates,' Bathraen told him as he shuffled back into the cockpit. 'Whether or not they will report us the moment we leave and we'll soon be on the run from government officials, I couldn't say.' He dropped heavily into the pilot's seat, taking a deep breath, his hands trembling slightly as he took hold of the controls. Over the years, his constant suppression had obviously robbed him of the courage he must have once possessed to tackle the government over human rights issues, Rodney realised. This really didn't look like a man capable of challenging social structures.

As the first set of gates drew back, Bathraen set their craft in motion. Once those gates closed behind them, there was a minor delay before the second set kicked in. For a moment, Rodney's natural pessimism and claustrophobia overwhelmed him, and he started to hyperventilate.

Bathraen looked his way and gave him a sympathetic smile. 'Don't worry, Dr McKay. I'm sure they'll let us out really. I only gave them half of the payment promised. They have to let us back into the city again later to get the other half.' He patted his chest, where Rodney now noticed a slight bulge beneath his coat, presumably what remained of Bathraen's tallots.

'Huh...good idea,' Rodney squeaked, gripping the arms of his seat so hard his fingers threatened to pop the upholstery. Clearly, not all the steel had left the man; he'd still possessed the forethought to secure their return...as long as the facilitators considered the bribe rich enough for their tastes.

Eventually, that second set of gates, and then the third, gave way to them, and then they were out, free of the crushing hold of the industrialised city. Rodney slouched down in his seat with a happy sigh. Fresh air had never tasted so sweet. He was so deeply entrenched in his own sense of relief that it took a moment for him to notice that Bathraen was sobbing beside him.

When he did, he just watched him for a few awkward seconds before deciding he had to say something. 'Er...hey. You okay?'

Bathraen blinked rapidly, then scrubbed the tears from his cheeks. 'Yes...it's just...well...I haven't left Traginta Duo in so many years, I'd forgotten what a magnificent view there is out here.'

Rodney looked out across the vista now, and realised how right Bathraen was. He hadn't taken any time to admire the views before Ashnael had taken them into the city, he'd been too busy feeling sorry for himself and wondering if Sheppard had lost his mind. Here, near the city, was a verdant landscape with hills and trees and other plant life as far as the eye could see, giving no clue of the barren lands surrounding the Forbidden Zones. And off in the distance, blue-hazed mountains rose into the sky. It really was a very beautiful planet – if the circumstances placing him there had been different.

'Well, much as I hate to sound churlish, I really need you to focus. We have to find Sheppard. With any luck, he'll have stolen a ship and headed for the gate, and he'll be sitting there waiting for us when we get there. If not and he's out here on foot somewhere...well, if those underground creatures you told me about are real, we need to pick him up fast.'

'We do indeed,' Bathraen agreed, clearing his throat and bringing his emotions under control. 'I apologise for behaving that way.'

'No...no need to apologise. I get that this is a big thing for you...it's just that saving Sheppard is a big thing for me, too.'

'Just as it should be.' He fell quiet for a short time then, and Rodney switched on the basic scanners that would pick up any other traffic out there. Then the man spoke again. 'Do you think Ishraela will be all right back at the house?'

'Well, she's a lot safer there than she would have been if the facilitators had decided to search this ship,' Rodney pointed out. 'Besides, she's a smart kid. She'll be okay...if any trouble heads her way, she'll see it coming, right?'

Bathraen peered over at him, frowning. 'You sound a little sceptical, Dr McKay. Don't you believe she can see the future?'

'Well, prediction isn't exactly the kind of exact science I'm into,' Rodney confessed.

'And yet you felt the need to search for your friend. I think at some level you must believe in it.'

Rodney laughed a little nervously. He supposed he must, but he really didn't want to admit it. 'Actually, my decision to come looking for him is based more in realms of mathematical probability than superstition. Sheppard alone outside the relative safety provided by the city's shield results in a high probability that he's getting into all kinds of trouble. That's just a calculated fact.'

Bathraen chuckled at his theory. 'I see. So your friend is an example of mathematical probability in action. Fascinating. I hope we find him to get a chance to study the results. '

Suddenly, Rodney spotted something on the outer range of their scans. 'Look, I've spotted something.'

Bathraen glanced at it, nodding. 'It could be a craft...and it appears to be stationary. We'll take a look.'

He steered them toward the blip on the scans, closing in on the signal quickly. Rodney watched out of the windshield now. He could see something solid, something metal glinting in the sunlight ahead of them.

'There, I see a transport. That could be him!' he said, jabbing his finger toward the sight.

'Let's hope so,' Bathraen said grimly. 'And if it is, let's hope it's not too late!'

oooOOOooo

Backing off a couple of steps, Sheppard tried to give himself extra breathing space...and extra time to think. The three men in front of him seemed to sense he might put up a fight, and warily began to spread out, closing down escape routes and forcing him to take his eyes off at least one of them to keep the other two in sight. He swiped sweat from his eyes, looking from one to the other of them, trying to anticipate which if them would attack first.

'Look...guys...I'm on your side. I understand you must have a hard life out here, and if you help me get to the Stargate, I might be able to do something about that,' he bargained.

Cue Ball laughed, sliding the biggest damned knife Sheppard had ever seen out from under his ragged coat. 'I've heard some pleas in my time, but no one has ever offered to help me before. You almost deserve to go free for that one...almost...' he grinned, showing a stained set of teeth with a few obvious gaps.

'Wow...that's real generous of you,' Sheppard mumbled, trying to see straight while he continued to keep an eye on the now fully separated trio. It felt as if his brain was a few seconds behind his body now, taking a moment too long to catch up each time he turned his head. Added to that, his clothes now clung to him like a second skin, drenched in sweat and tugging against his angry wounds. If they'd offered to shoot him, he might have been willing to take them up on the offer, but being eaten was definitely not on his top ten list of ways to go. 'Look, guys, I don't wanna state the obvious here, but I think you can see pretty clearly that I'm sick. You don't wanna eat infected meat, right?'

'Now that one, I _have_ heard before,' Cue Ball growled, his grin now more of a sneer. He moved in much closer, looking him over from head to toe. 'Those look like slave cuffs you're wearing. You escape from the city?'

'Would it make any difference if I said yes?' Sheppard asked hopefully.

'Yeah...it'd be more...ironic. You've been free how long? And now you've run into us.'

The three men laughed, and even Sheppard had to admit he was impressed these guys understood that concept. At least he wasn't being eaten by complete imbeciles. Because that would be so much worse? Jeez, he really had to start thinking more clearly! A plan...a plan, he needed a... a transporter.

The three men had completely abandoned their open-top craft to jump out and give him the benefit of their dubious intellect. It sat about twenty yards behind them, those parts of it that hadn't rusted glinting in the morning sunlight. So, if he was lucky...and if they didn't have some kind of DNA coding locking him out of the controls, which he assumed they didn't because they'd more than likely stolen the craft from an earlier meal, he might be able to slip past them and commandeer the craft.

Of course, that would have been a hell of a lot easier to do if he didn't feel like the ground was turning to sponge beneath his feet and if his vision wasn't starting to tunnel, then split, then tunnel again. No! Dammit! He would not pass out right now. He had to stay conscious, or, even if the Marx Brothers here didn't eat him, a purraet probably would. And that was the other thing he was worried about. If they were lucky, the purraet was off hunting elsewhere by now, but if it was still in the area...

One of Cue Ball's associates made a grab for him, and Sheppard countered with a punch he pretty much swung from his boots. The guy staggered back, his nose bleeding all over his hands as he tried to contain the flood. So that was one of them distracted – just two more to overcome.

Cue Ball didn't look too happy about Sheppard's boxing skills, and wielded his knife in front of him to prevent Sheppard from doing the same to him without losing an arm. With one either side of him, and one snivelling on the ground, Sheppard knew his chances had improved, but he still wasn't home and dry. Cue Ball's partner edged behind him, then, more through instinct than any actual solid reasoning, Sheppard knew he was going to grab him from behind. So he dropped, just as Cue Ball lunged with his weapon, stabbing his cohort in the guts, while Sheppard scooted past him and scrambled to his feet, running for the craft on legs that could barely hold his fast moving and unsteady weight.

He'd almost made it when that all too familiar and irresistible force pulled his wrists tight against the hull of the transport, just as he rested his hands on it to push himself up into the cockpit.

'Good try, slave,' he heard his adversary's gruff voice call from behind him. 'And if I hadn't eaten one or two slave owners in my time, you might have got away with it.'

Sheppard peered back over his shoulder, seeing the other man lying on the ground, writhing and groaning and clutching his guts. He was losing a lot of blood, but Cue Ball didn't seem in the least concerned.

'Hey, Daelaf. Looks like we might get one each today,' he shouted cheerily to Nose Job, closing down on Sheppard, while he tried to blink the man into clearer focus.

The guy he'd earlier punched was just about pulling himself back together, climbing to his feet and stumping a few steps towards their fallen comrade. 'Calaeth has a lot more meat on him. If he dies, I'll take him.'

Calaeth screamed a stream of almost incomprehensible abuse at him, then coughed up a mouthful of thick, dark blood. He was on his way out, all right. Sheppard had seen men in that state die in infirmaries, let alone out here in this hostile environment. And it didn't look like his buddies were about to lend him a hand.

'It's not all about quantity, there's also quality to consider. Maybe I'll just have a taste of 'em both, then I'll choose. You can have the one I don't want.'

Sheppard yanked hard on his restraints, but as ever, they were going nowhere, holding him fast to the ship that had so nearly been his ticket out of there. He supposed that was just a little more of the irony that seemed to thrive on this planet, to his cost.

Cue Ball grabbed Sheppard's vest, pulling it away from his back and slicing it a few inches, exposing his neck and right shoulder. Then he sank his teeth in hard, and Sheppard couldn't help but grind out a scream through his clenched teeth, his knees buckling beneath him as the man drew blood.

What happened next was a moment of noise and confusion and then relief, as a powerful thump hit Cue Ball, knocking him into Sheppard's back before he keeled over and toppled to the ground. When he looked down, Sheppard saw streaks of red energy engulfing the man, now wriggling away across his body and leaving him unconscious. Another blast, further away, presumably took out Nose Job.

He struggled to find the source of the shots. 'Ronon?'

'Well, that would have been nice for you, wouldn't it, John?' a creepily familiar voice chimed up. 'But no, I'm afraid not.'

Of all the people he could have hoped would come to rescue him, Ashnael was really not one of them. His fevered brain was now so addled he couldn't decide whether this was a better option than ending up back with the Tranaedans or not. Maybe the Callaedins would have been better after all, because as far as plans went, this one really sucked. Maybe he could have got away from the Callaedins and found some other way out of the city. Maybe he could have –

An icy chill ran the full length of his spine, jolting Sheppard from his rambling thoughts as a chillingly gentle touch examined the bite wound on his trapezius. 'These bandits...they're such savages,' Ashnael breathed, far too close to Sheppard's ear. 'They have no finesse...no skill. When I kill you, I'll do it slowly and very, very painfully...once I'm done with you.'

The ground shook a little beneath them, and suddenly Sheppard realised the purraet had been his best option all along, so willed it to break through the ground and hopefully swallow him whole, just so it could be a little less painful.

Ashnael, however, had other ideas. 'Time for us to leave,' he whispered against his neck, blasting him point-blank with Ronon's gun. The world shut down as one final thought flashed through his mind. _Aw, crap!_

oooOOOooo

Bathraen drew their craft to a halt beside the stationary craft, and Rodney couldn't get out of the ship fast enough. He darted the few yards over to the grounded vessel, noticing it looked rather more dusty than he'd expected it to.

'Dr McKay, you must move more quietly. Practice caution!' Bathraen yelled to him from the hatch of his own transporter, as he climbed out more carefully and practically tiptoed his way over to him.

'Yeah...whatever,' Rodney said absently, circling the craft. The ship had crashed, but it was cold, completely cold. It didn't seem like the engines had been running recently. 'You know, I don't think this ship left the city today...'

Behind him, he turned to watch Bathraen wipe a swathe of dirt from the windscreen, then shield his eyes to peer inside. He drew back sharply, clearly shocked by something. 'No...no, I suspect this craft has been here some time.'

Rodney noticed a number of panels had been ripped off the far side of the craft, and that one of the engines appeared to have been tampered with. 'Looks like someone decided to help themselves to spare parts.'

'That'll be the bandits,' Bathraen explained, creeping up to join him. 'To survive out here, they have to keep transports running. The only way they can maintain them is to steal parts. They probably forced this ship to crash in the first place, then killed the pilot...although I am surprised they didn't eat him.'

Rodney froze. 'What did you say?'

'You mustn't judge them too harshly, Dr McKay. Life out here is terribly hard. A few city dwellers travelling in the Centum Civis have reported being attacked and one of their party being eaten before they escaped. Food out here is scarce, especially meat, since they have to compete with the purraet for the indigenous animals. Humans sometimes prove an easier target for them.'

'Well, touching as that story is, I'm still not feeling any warm and fuzzies for these people,' Rodney snapped. 'And if life's that desperate for them, why would they leave –'

He stopped as he rounded the far end of the craft, spotting the open hatch and an arm hanging out of it.

'There's another body here,' he whispered to the physician, creeping along to the opening to take a better look.

No matter how many times he saw dried up husks of bodies, Rodney never got used to it. As they crouched over the body, Bathraen carried out a cursory examination. 'It's odd. The ship doesn't appear to have decayed too much, yet this body and that of the pilot are severely desiccated. And this one's clothes are so tattered I would have assumed they were weather worn, yet the plant life has barely begun to grow up around the ship. I think this may have been a bandit rather than a passenger. Weighing it all up, it looks as if it could have happened within the past few weeks, not months ago as these bodies suggest.'

'Yeah...it does,' Rodney replied nervously, his mind already filling with a dozen reasons why he should be getting out of there. The planet had never been hit by a Wraith culling because the strength of the EM fields in the Forbidden Zones could down any craft coming in low enough over them, and the Wraith had presumably lost darts to them when approaching the planet in the past. But this looked like a Wraith feeding – he'd seen enough of them to know. And if the ship had only been here for weeks at most, that meant the purraet weren't the only monsters they were running the gauntlet with. A flap of fabric on the corpse's chest lifted in the breeze, and he thought he might have seen something he really didn't want to. He reached out a shaky hand and tentatively lifted it again, his brain screaming out, _Oh, nononononono!_

Hearing a noise within the craft, he stumbled back and fell on the ground, that very act putting just enough room between him and Bathraen to make the physician an easier catch for the Wraith who had still been sheltering in the craft, clearly waiting for the next hapless intruder to come along and loot the ship.

The man didn't stand a chance as the masked drone jumped forward and grabbed Bathraen with his left hand, slamming his feeding hand into his chest. A garbled scream ripped out of his failing lungs, and all Rodney could do was frantically push backwards, then roll onto his hands and knees, righting himself before running like crazy for Bathraen's transporter.

He shut the hatch behind him, then threw himself into the pilot's seat. Having flown some routes with Bathraen now he knew how to start the thing up, but could he fly it? He had to...that or he was the next one in line to have the life sucked out of him.

As he fired up the engines and frantically tried to decipher the controls, the Wraith rounded the other craft, coming into view through his windshield.

'Ohgodohgodohgodohgod! Come on! Move!' Rodney willed the machine, and as if in response it suddenly lurched forward, jerking and swerving but definitely moving.

Seeing his attempts to escape, the Wraith began to lumber toward the ship, levelling his huge stun weapon at the craft, which was presumably how he'd downed the other ship and how he'd avoided the purraets for so long. 'Oh, crap!' Rodney whimpered, and hit just about every control he'd seen Bathraen use in the few times they'd flown together. His luck was in, and the ship suddenly shot forward, bowling the Wraith over and ridding him of that particular problem. Unfortunately, he was now headed for the crashed ship.

Almost screaming, McKay grabbed the steering system and flung it to the left, managing to miss the other ship by a few inches, but tipping the ship so much it scraped on the ground. Somehow, he wrestled the craft back under control, sweeping around the crashed craft and, while trying to completely ignore the sight of Bathraen's body now lying next to the hatch of the ship, headed off in the direction of the 'gate. With any luck, he might run into Sheppard out there. Then _he _could fly the damned ship and get them both to safety.


	32. Chapter 32

**A/N: I'm glad to hear readers are still enjoying this story. There's not so much further for this tale to go now, but hopefully you won't be disappointed. :)**

* * *

**Chapter 32 **

'What do we have here?' Harding mused as he slowed the jumper on approach to the 'gate. Sitting on the dais the Stargate was set upon were three forlorn looking figures, all clinging to one another is if they feared letting go.

'I do not know,' Zelenka replied, studying them through the windshield, 'but they do not look like they come from around here. The way they dress is very different to the way the people of the Centum Civis clothe themselves.'

Unlike the peoples of the cities, the fabrics they wore were coarser and more natural, undyed and untailored, more functional than anything designed to show position or wealth. Of course, Thalaezin had mentioned peoples living outside the cities, and these three could be some of them. If so, and if his stories of their madness were true, they had to be careful how they approached them.

'Well, one thing's for sure, we can't work on the DHD until we figure out who they are and whether they're a potential threat,' Harding told him, gently setting the jumper down near the DHD so as not to alert them to their arrival. 'Okay, people. Let's get go find out what these folks are up to. Take no chances.'

The three marines in the rear of the jumper gave him a sharp nod and prepped their weapons. Harding chose to leave the jumper cloaked to protect the vehicle, disembarking along with his men, with Zelenka trotting along behind them. He was happy to stay at the rear since he had no weapon of his own. He doubted there was any point in carrying one himself if three marines couldn't protect him.

The people near the 'gate reacted instantly to their appearance, first shying away in terror, begging them not to hurt them, then seeming to gain more confidence when Harding held his hands up as a sign that he meant them no harm.

'Hi, there,' Harding called to them. 'Everything okay?'

One man, older than his two companions and wearing some kind of jewellery around his neck that might denote leadership, stood up now and took a couple of shaky steps toward them. 'Your uniforms...they look familiar. Do you know Colonel Sheppard?'

The marines and Zelenka all exchanged confused glances. Of all the questions they'd been expecting, that hadn't been one of them.

'Uh, yes...yes we do...' Zelenka stammered, peering from behind his much larger companions. 'How do you know him?'

'We are from Dalmaria. He helped our trading party during a recent trip to Galragga when a Wraith culling began.'

Zelenka remembered the mission the man was talking about. Rodney had given him earache about it for days afterward...up until Sheppard's unfortunate experience in Kolya's hands a few weeks ago, which had then taken precedence in the scientist's ramblings.

The Dalmarians had travelled to Galragga to trade for medicines, a trip they apparently made several times a year, but on that occasion, the Wraith had turned up in a Hive ship and had begun to pick off anyone who hadn't gone into hiding. Sheppard's team had been there studying an ancient outpost, hoping to find a ZPM, which had unfortunately not materialised. When the culling had begun, they had helped people where they could, firing on darts to keep them at bay and encouraging the locals to move if they froze in fear. But the Dalmarian trading party had been left stranded, losing the locals and having no idea where their underground hideouts were located. So, when Colonel Sheppard had heard the Dalmarians were missing, he'd ordered McKay and the rest of his team to protect the Galraggans, while he'd darted out to return to their jumper and go in search of them. Though the odds had been stacked against him, the colonel had pulled off a minor miracle, saving all four members of the party and ferrying them to safety. The attempted culling had gone on for hours, but their hiding place had remained undiscovered. Once it was over, Sheppard's team had returned the Dalmarians to the 'gate, but the secretive people had insisted there was no need for the Lanteans to escort them all the way home, so they had assumed the apparently ungrateful rescuees wanted nothing more than to return to their planet and forget all about the horrific experience. Now, it seemed, they hadn't forgotten at all.

'So, what're you people doing here?' Harding asked them, resting his arms on the butt of his P-90 as he relaxed his pose.

Zelenka noticed that the three marines standing just behind him didn't follow suit yet.

'We were waiting for a delivery of iron from Haraendon this morning, but it didn't turn up. We have a huge supply of food waiting on the other side of the gate as payment for the trade, which must be transported today or it will spoil, but without our goods being delivered, there is no craft to transport it to the city. We came through to find out what is happening, but –'

Behind him, a woman burst into tears.

'There are monsters here,' he whispered as the other man comforted her. ' We tried to walk out across these lands and a great beast rose out of the ground. It ate Malvaler while the rest of us ran for our lives. We were fortunate to make it to the Circle of the Ancestors without further attack, but then we couldn't dial our home world. A message told us we needed government permissions to use the gate. We did not know what to do or where to go. And then you found us. Are you here with Colonel Sheppard?'

'Actually, we're here looking for Colonel Sheppard. He's missing somewhere on this planet,' Harding explained. 'Have you guys been sitting here for long?'

'A while,' the man nodded.

'Well, it doesn't look like Sheppard made it this far yet then. If you people want to go home, we can dial the 'gate for you.'

The man turned to his friends and they engaged in a whispered conversation. They seemed to be disagreeing, though there was no obvious malice in the discussion. In the end, the lead male drew the conversation to a close, patting the other man on the shoulder. 'If you could send Kelan and Rumia home I would be most grateful,' the man asked them. 'But I need to speak with someone on this planet to find out what has happened to our planned trade. If they do not come through to Dalmaria soon, the food we collected for them will go to waste.'

'You do a lot of trade with these people?' Harding asked.

'Yes. They have a thriving community here, but cannot grow enough food for their population because of their environment. 'We live on a planet abundant with edible plant life and animals, more than we could ever need. We trade for iron to reinforce our dwellings against the quakes that regularly trouble our home world.'

The lieutenant nodded as he listened, looking around at his gathered team as he did so. Then he wandered a little further away, activating his radio and informing Elizabeth of this turn in events. Once his conversation with the Atlantis commander was over, he returned to them.

'Okay, this is what we're going to do,' he announced, loudly enough that everyone there could hear him. 'First, we're gonna send this gentleman's friends home. Second, we're gonna dial Atlantis and ask them to send through another jumper to keep Dr Zelenka company while he disengages the blocking device from the DHD. Third, the rest of us are gonna take this gentleman,' he looked at the man, who duly gave Harding his name.

'Jasheran.'

'Jasheran to Traginta Duo with us, picking up Miss Emmagan en route if we can find her. That way, he can have a chance to speak to the top man, First Minister Thalaezin, in person. Is that acceptable to you, Jasheran?'

He nodded frenetically. 'Yes, yes, that would be most helpful...most helpful.'

'Then we're agreed. Dr Zelenka, if you could take down the details of the address these people need to dial and see to that for them.'

Zelenka agreed, and guided Jasheran to the DHD, where the man showed him the symbols. He was evidently still deeply affected by the ordeal they had been through, his breath catching and his hand shaking as he pointed to each symbol in order. Radek locked them in to his near photographic memory and thanked him, before heading into the cloaked jumper and dialling the address for them.

He headed back out to watch as Jasheran warmly embraced his companions, then sent them on their way. When that was done, he put Harding's second instruction in motion, relaying the message that they required another jumper from Atlantis.

After that, he walked back out of the jumper, looking out against the vast landscape and spotting signs of disturbance in the ground some distance away, and wondering just exactly how big this purraet the first minister had spoken of was. The site of the turned soil and grass was a way off, yet visible to the naked eye – which meant it was most likely bigger than any of them had imagined.

Swallowing hard and trying not to think about the danger they might be in, he settled down to the task of examining the additional device on the DHD while he waited for that jumper to come. It was complicated, but nothing he couldn't dismantle with care. And hopefully, if Colonel Sheppard was out there on the run somewhere, the completion of this task would mean that if he somehow made it to the gate, he would be able to dial his way to safety.

If the monster didn't get him first.

oooOOOooo

Rodney really had no idea what he was doing, relying on Bathraen's ship itself to stay airborne rather than having any real input into its flight. He could read the instruments, take scans, and make sure they were avoiding other vehicles – although he'd only seen one at a distance, heading toward Traginta Duo at speed. Other than that, pure luck was the only thing keeping the ship going. If he ran into any difficulties, he was screwed, there was no doubt about that.

The craft jerked, throwing him sideways in his seat.

McKay froze, eyes wide, a tiny whimper escaping his lips.

When several seconds passed with no further problems, he relaxed a little, putting it down to some kind of engine misfire. That was okay, those kinds of things probably happened all the time with these ships. It wasn't like he was familiar with them.

Then it happened again...and the ship began to shudder, then shake violently, along with a hideously low growling sound coming from somewhere near the left engine.

'Oh nonononono! No, you can't do this to me!'

But it did, continuing to buck and cough until, with a groan, the left engine gave up the ghost and the craft began to turn and list.

Battling desperately to keep the craft up, Rodney found the control to try to re-fire the engine, hitting it with more force than was necessary. That slam on the control panel coincided with an explosion outside the craft. And then there was smoke.

'Aw c'mon!' he screamed at the failing vessel, but it was no good, he was going down and there wasn't a single thing he could do to stop it.

Strapping himself in, he prepared for impact, bracing himself against the dash as he listened to the frightening noise denoting the craft's declining altitude. The craft hit, and his head filled with the sounds of metal grating through rocky soil, churning up turf and trees and shrubs as it slid, then came to a crunching, whining stop, tipping slightly as if it was about to flip end over nose, then slamming back down to the ground with a final hiss.

The cabin and cockpit continued to fill with acrid smoke, and though his body hurt and his arms ached, McKay knew he had to get out. Unclipping his belt, he fought his way over to the hatch through the various pieces of Bathraen's medical kit that had been tossed around in the collision, and pretty much fell out onto solid ground, scrambling away from the ship like a newborn foal unable to get its balance.

Thankfully, the ship didn't explode, just continued to burn while McKay watched from the sidelines, sinking into despair.

'Well, this is just great!' he yelled, picking up a stone and lobbing it at the burning ship. 'All you had to do was stay in the air until I reached the gate, and you couldn't even do that!'

Something inside the ship popped as if in answer, making him jump. He realised it was ridiculous to think it, but it was almost as if the ship was taking revenge for his tantrum, frightening him into withholding further abuse. Since throwing stones was futile anyway, he didn't bother again.

Thinking about it, he realised he'd probably damaged the engine while fleeing from the Wraith. He had dragged that side of the craft on the ground, after all. A moment of regret tugged at him over Bathraen's death, especially since he had pretty much forced the man to venture outside the safety of the city. He supposed that made him at least partially responsible for his death, but he'd done it with the best of intentions. Sheppard was out there somewhere and needed help to get through the gate. Now, he'd let not only Bathraen down, but Sheppard, too. His plan had gone to hell and now he was out in the middle of nowhere with a Wraith on the loose, the mad people Bathraen had told him dwelled out there, and some kind of man-eating gopher. Oh, yeah. By the clearest definition of the word, he was doomed.

Just as he had lost all hope, dropping his head into his hands and whimpering his woes to no one in particular, a voice called, 'Dr McKay?'

He almost didn't believe he'd heard that. Lifting his head, he saw a marine standing in front of him, plain as day.

'Yes...yes! Please tell me you're really here.'

'We're here, all right,' the marine whose name he couldn't recall grinned, planting his hands on his hips. 'You look like you could use a lift.'

'Yes, very funny,' McKay replied, forcing on a not-too-convincing smile and pushing up to his feet.

'Don't suppose you've seen Colonel Sheppard in your travels?'

That question left an empty feeling at the pit of Rodney's stomach. 'No...and I take it you haven't either?'

'Not a sign, so far. But we were just heading to pick up Miss Emmagan if you'd care to join us.'

'Would I ever.'

A tremor shook the ground beneath them both.

McKay was about to launch into one of his tirades about earthquakes and timing, when he heard frantic shouts from within the craft and the marine began running toward him. 'We need to get in the jumper now!'

But there wasn't time. The ground between them burst open and a huge mouth gnashed the air just in front of McKay's face. He froze rigid as the head disappeared again, wheezing out, 'Jesus!'

The marine, who had been bounced out of the way, now recovered and frantically gesturing for McKay to come over to him. Sure, he wanted him to make all the noise! Then, as the ground tremored again, Rodney set off pell-mell, faster than he thought his legs could actually move. And as it turned out, he was right. He stumbled and had to be dragged back to his feet just as the jumper the marine had arrived on de-cloaked so they could find their way back to it before the purraet cracked through the ground surface once more. The marine practically threw McKay in through the open rear hatch, then dived in after him, landing on top of him in all the chaos.

As the jumper soared out of reach of the monster's jaws, McKay came to his senses, pushing the breathless man off him. 'Okay, you've done rescuing me, now get off. I think you might have broken a rib.'

'Yeah, I think I might have,' the man hissed, clutching his side.

McKay looked up then to spot a slightly familiar face staring back at him, white as a sheet. Rodney recognised him from somewhere, then realised he was someone Sheppard had saved a couple of months ago, some elder from the planet Dalmaria.

'Oh, hey! Fancy seeing you here,' he quipped, figuring someone would fill him in on the details if they were important enough to bother with.

'Good to have you back, Dr McKay,' the marine in the pilot seat called to him. The tone of his voice was dripping with sarcasm, but that was okay; McKay was used to it, and more than capable of giving as good as he got.

'Well, you could have had me back a lot sooner if you hadn't dragged your feet so much. Where the hell have you been?'

'Negotiating for the rights to search for you, since we only just found out we needed to go to Traginta Duo. You have no idea how whacked the government on this planet is,' Hardy or whatever his name was told him.

'Actually I think I may have,' he mumbled. 'So I take it you got my message.'

'_Your _message?'

'Yes, it was my idea to get the afflicted to contact you. You did find out about Traginta Duo through them?'

'We did, but we didn't know you'd instigated that. Good thinking.'

'Yes well I am the smartest man in two galaxies, Captain Hardy,' he smirked.

'That's _Lieutenant Harding_,' the man corrected.

'Whatever. In addition, you, you nearly didn't get me back at all. A Wraith tried to feed on me while I was looking for Sheppard.'

'A Wraith? Here?' Hardy was suddenly much more interested in what he was saying than he had been a few moments ago.

'Yes, we, that is me and Bathraen, the guy who's been looking after me, had stopped to search a crashed craft and the damned thing was hiding aboard it.'

'Show me where you last saw it,' Harding barked, suddenly all business. 'If the colonel's still out her, along with Miss Emmagan, we can't risk either of them running into it.'

'No...no we can't,' Rodney blustered, leaning between the pilot and co-pilot seats and pointing to the spot when Harding fired up the HUD. 'There. I hit him with my craft, but –'

'But he'd just fed...I take it that's why you're alone now.'

McKay nodded, suddenly silent as the memory of the physician's death assaulted him again.

Harding nodded, a knowing look in his eyes. 'Let's go Wraith hunting' he said grimly, altering their course to head to where Rodney had left the unfortunate physician to his fate.

oooOOOooo

When he woke and blinked his eyes against the light, it took Sheppard a while to remember what had last happened to him. The clean, white room made him think of hospitals, and there was a certain sterility to the air that seemed to confirm that. But what had happened? How had he got here? He couldn't move, seemingly stuck on his back on the...the floor? Not a bed? This didn't feel like any treatment he recognised. This felt like...

With a rush his memories returned, and he recalled the cannibals, the shaking ground, Ashnael's hot breath on his neck, and he was soon desperately straining against his restraints to get off his back and upright. Not that it made any difference. Wherever he was, he'd been secured to the metal floor by his cuffs and no amount of attempts to lever himself free would move them.

'Well, this sucks!' he rasped, his throat dried out from the lack of anything to drink for more hours than he cared to think about.

A low whirr caught his attention, and he spotted a camera now honing in on him from the corner of the ceiling. Great, so now he was being watched? Well, it wouldn't be much of a show. He didn't have the strength left to put on a performance right now.

He rolled his head to the side, away from the intrusive lens, and noticed now that his cuffs no longer bore the Tranaedan mark, but that of Ashnael's household. Oh, he had not done that to him! No way was he ever, _ever_ going to serve that creep of a man.

Now fully conscious, he became more aware of his body's condition, still trembling fiercely from fever and saturated with sweat. He was filthy, beat up, exhausted and dehydrated, and he ached so much he just wished the floor would open up and swallow him...which, of course, it would have if he'd stayed in the ship when that purraet had attacked. So, he cursed his over-developed survival instinct and waited for whatever crap this planet determined to throw at him next. Worst case scenario, he had to put up with this for a week or so until the Daedalus showed and things got heavy for the people of Haraendon. Then he checked himself. No...worst case scenario was that Ashnael might torture him for a week or however long it was until the Daedalus arrived, then killed him when he was on the brink of being rescued. And the way this planet dished out irony, that was the most likely outcome. He wracked his brain now, trying to remember how far away the Daedalus had been when he'd last left Atlantis, and how many days he had now been held prisoner. Unfortunately, his brain apparently had no intention of complying with his desire to do the calculations.

_'John.'_

A gentle and instantly recognisable voice beside him made him turn his head back. Teyla now crouched beside him. Had Ashnael found her, too? Surely it was too much to hope that this was a rescue.

'Teyla? How –'

_'Do not give up, John. You have to fight on.'_

He nodded, but his eyes welled with tears at the sight of her. 'I'm trying...but I'm so tired...'

_'I know, John. But we are very close to the city now . You must fight on...you have to get out of here.'_

Those words almost ripped his heart out. For a moment, he'd dared to believe Teyla was really with him, but no, she was just a hallucination, probably fuelled by his own desperation for this to be over. He was losing it, and Ashnael, wherever the little bastard was, was filming it all for posterity.

He turned his head away again. 'Just leave me alone...please.'

_'I cannot, John. Remember your friends in Atlantis. They need you to survive.'_

Those words nudged his memory with their striking familiarity. So that was it, this was a message from the sensory, still pushing him on to save his people. Well, he was done with falling for his trickery. He'd gone through enough already only to end up back at square one.

'You lied to me!' he hissed, turning his ferocious gaze on Teyla's form. 'You said this would end well.'

_'It will.'_

'How? How the hell can this be defined as ending well?'

_'It is not over yet, John. This is not the end.'_

'Yes it is!' he snapped, letting his head fall back to the floor. 'I'm done with following your instructions. I trusted you, and you just used me and my friends for...for what? Was all this just some great elaborate scheme to get me to come and kill you? Did you dress it up as something bigger just so I would see it through?'

_'This is not about me,'_ Teyla's voice replied. _'This was never about me. This is for my people, and for the slaves of this planet. My only mistake was to underestimate Magistra Tranaedan's determination, John. And for that I am truly sorry. But I have not ever knowingly lied to you.'_

Sheppard took a deep shuddering breath and forced himself to calm down. 'Would you at least have the courtesy to change?'

_'Change?'_

'You're not Teyla, so change,' Sheppard grunted, forcing his voice out as strongly as he could.

From the corner of his eye, Sheppard saw the sensory's shape alter and melt into his own form. _'I'm sorry, I meant no offence.'_

'No. You just wanted to win me over by using the one person you know can always persuade me. Well, like I said...I've had enough of your tricks.'

The sound of the door drawing back interrupted them, and Sheppard knew exactly who was coming, so refused to acknowledge him. He picked a spot on the ceiling, a tiny fleck of dirt in the otherwise immaculate whiteness, and stared at it. Eventually, Ashnael leaned over him, frowning. 'Who are you talking to, John?'

'Well, I sure as hell wasn't talking to you,' he told him, then fixed his defiant gaze somewhere past his head so he could stare at the ceiling again.

'You're not looking too well there, John. I think you need a drink.'

Ashnael knelt beside him and caught hold of his face, forcing open his mouth and tipping in the contents of a bottle he'd brought with him. The amount was far too much for Sheppard's swallow reflex to cope with, and he began to cough and splutter, trying to move but too weak to manage it. Eventually, Ashnael relented, giving him time to catch his breath.

'Seems the Tranaedans haven't been looking after you properly.' The man plucked at Sheppard's cloying vest, his lip curling a little at the state of it. Sheppard figured he probably did look a mess to someone like him, sitting there in his perfectly clean and pressed clothes, everything neatly buckled and dirt-free, all washed and clean, not like him in his filthy clothes, drenched in sweat, covered in grime and blood. He needed a shower...no, he needed to soak in a bathtub for a week at least. _Stop obsessing, John_, he told himself. _Being dirty isn't your problem here. Focus!_

Ashnael produced a syringe from a pocket in his jacket, spraying a tiny fountain of droplets from its tip as he cleared it of any air. 'You'll be glad to hear I know a little about medicine...I've picked it up in my years trading slaves...so I can tell an infection when I see one.' He slid his gaze over Sheppard's body, lifting his shirt to expose the inflamed skin on his stomach. 'Very unpleasant. And since I don't know exactly what kind of infection this is, I'm going to have to give you a dose of something very strong to ensure we bring it under control. This may...sting a little.'

Ashnael jabbed the syringe into his neck with far more force than the job required, making him groan, but that was all he could manage. He didn't even have the energy to cry out with any volume any more.

'There, that should hopefully give you a boost and keep you alive as long as I want you to be.'

For a few seconds, the pain of the injection site was enough to stop Sheppard from noticing anything else, but as it began to fade, the sickening sensation of Ashnael's fingertips dragging across his buckle welts set him frantically squirming under his touch.

'This must have hurt terribly. Looks like Tranaedan took his belt to you. Seems you were a bad slave when in the Tranaedan's house, John. What did you do, cosy up to Tranaedan's wife?'

Sheppard wanted to yell at him that since that was what he'd sold him to her for, what did he expect, but he refused to be drawn into conversation with the freak. The guy was already looking worryingly excited by his physical protests, he wouldn't encourage him by arguing, too.

'It was lucky I found you when I did, don't you think? You must be feeling very grateful that I saved you from those feral humans. A debt like that could take some repaying.'

The man stroked the side of his face and he flinched away, still staring at the same spot on the ceiling, unwilling to speak and ignoring the inference. He doubted Ashnael had stumbled across him by chance, just as he hadn't when they'd first arrived. The sensory had planted the idea in his mind then, and this time...this time he wasn't sure. It could have been the sensory again, or it could have been Magistra Tranaedan. Either way, they'd dumped him in deep crap and he was anything but grateful.

'Not feeling talkative, John Sheppard?' Ashnael coaxed, then annoyed by his lack of response, Ashnael grabbed his face and turned it toward him. 'Funny – when you held the threat of Tranaedan's wrath over me, you were far more vocal. Well, let me explain one of the rules of my household to you. When I ask my slaves a question, I expect them to answer me. Do you understand?'

Sheppard glared up at that spot on the ceiling and remained silent.

'Because that's what you are now...my slave. Tranaedan took Ronon from me, and now you're here as compensation. It seems fitting, don't you think, since you were the one who told Tranaedan about Ronon in the first place?'

No matter what Ashnael did to him, Sheppard was glad he'd got his friend out of there. A smile curled the corner of his mouth as he thought about how pissed he must have been to lose his prize, a smile he knew would bring him trouble, but one he couldn't suppress all the same.

'Oh, you think this is funny, do you?' Ashnael growled, snatching hold of his face again and digging his fingers in hard into the fleshy planes of Sheppard's cheeks. 'Did Ronon tell you what his role here was?'

Sheppard jerked his head free of his grip, still declining to speak.

'I love to spar, you see, and Ronon was to be my new, more challenging sparring partner. Do you think you're up to that challenge, John? Do you think you can handle what I throw at you?' He paused to give him time to answer, which, of course, Sheppard didn't. Then he piped up again. 'Did Ronon tell you that I beat him unconscious?'

His jaw tensing, and a pulse pounding in his temple, he did his best not to react, but knew Ashnael would be able to see how that made him feel.

'Beautiful man, that friend of yours. Perfection. Almost as if he were carved rather than the product of some messy, sordid copulation.'

Sheppard focused on that point on the ceiling, the speck of imperfection in the painfully bright whiteness, and tried to shut out the words. He felt tainted even being in a room with a man who thought that way, but being cuffed and restrained in a room with a man who thought that way...he just wouldn't go there, his mind wouldn't let him.

'I've always had a preference for young men myself,' Ashnael suddenly confided, making himself comfortable at Sheppard's side, lounging out beside him as he propped his head up on his hand. 'Dezrin was always a favourite of mine. Young, strong, but knows his place. And then you brought Ronon to my home. Now, he definitely didn't know his place.' Ashnael chuckled as if recalling a fond memory. Then his voice dropped an octave. 'But I enjoyed teaching him.'

Sheppard's breathing, already a little strained, grew more erratic as his mind conjured up all sorts of things those words could mean. But that was what he wanted, to provoke a reaction. Well, he wouldn't give him the pleasure of seeing how much this was hurting.

'He cried, your friend...after the first time I took my owner's privileges. Most of them do – the first time. Sometimes a couple more times, too. Then they accept that this is who they are now, and that is what is expected of them. I hadn't quite got that far with Ronon, though. His tears...his tears were different. He was angry...the tears were sheer frustration that he couldn't kill me, I'm sure. But he would have come around eventually...they all do. When they realise it is a small payment for the roof over their heads and the food on their plates, they learn to appreciate my attentions.'

He trailed a finger lazily up the thick line of hair running from Sheppard's navel toward his breastbone, scraping over a couple of his sutured lacerations as it progressed. 'I've never really looked at a mature man before – you know, _really_ looked. And I have to admit, you have a certain...appeal.'

Bordering on screaming at the freak to get his hands off him, Sheppard stared at that tiny spot and thought about flying – flying helicopters, fighter jets, jumpers, darts, flying anything that would get him the hell away from here. He wouldn't break. He wouldn't speak. He wouldn't give this creep the satisfaction of seeing his anger or his fear. Ashnael clearly got off on those things, Bathraen had said as much to Rodney. And for all he knew he was lying about what he'd done to Ronon. The man certainly wasn't above using such tactics. But whether he was or not, and whatever intentions he had toward him, what happened now was out of his hands. The only thing he could use against Ashnael was silence...and, just as it had when he'd used the same tactic on the Callaedin woman out in the parkland, it seemed little more than a pretence of defiance.

'You're not as muscular as I usually like my men to be, but you're lean...solid.' He slid his palm up Sheppard's pectoral and onto his shoulder, then along the taut muscles of his right arm, and over the filthy dressing on his forearm. 'I've been thinking about you ever since you fought us in my treatment room. Such strength from someone so slim and so much older than I usually deal with. I think I could grow to like your form...yes, I think I could do that quite easily.'

He lowered his face then so that his mouth was close to Sheppard's ear. 'I wonder if you will cry.'

With that single sentence, Ashnael stole what little self-control Sheppard had been desperately hanging onto, leaving him cursing and thrashing while the man himself dissolved in fits of laughter.


	33. Chapter 33

**Chapter 33 **

'What do you mean, you can no longer sense him?' Teyla asked, her stomach knotting at the news her afflicted companions had just given her.

'We've lost contact with him. He was travelling on a cargo transport destined for the gate but something happened and now he's...he's gone.'

Teyla stared back at the young man who had spoken, wishing she could see into his mind to fully understand the feelings accompanying those words. Then again, perhaps not. She might find out more than she could handle. 'Is he...dead?' she finally dared to ask him, hoping they would be able to put her doubts to rest.

Yaerin looked up at her with huge, apologetic red eyes. 'I don't know, Teyla. We simply cannot tell.'

Teyla nodded briskly, looking away across the barren landscape to hide her tears. Here, in the middle of nowhere, and with stories of man-eating creatures prowling the lands beyond the black circle she and her companions had gathered near, she could do nothing to investigate for herself. Nothing that wouldn't put her life in danger, and simply add to the problems that seemed to be already mounting without her help, that was.

'Why was he in a craft going through the Stargate?' she asked them without turning toward them. 'Dr McKay's message said he was in the Tranaedan household.'

'Things had changed since Dr McKay last saw him,' another voice replied. 'Events had aligned to a degree that the prophecy could come true.'

Teyla turned now to face the woman who had answered, her mind buzzing with confusion. 'The prophecy? What prophecy?'

'Narandael told us that one would come, a pilot, who would form a bridge between our world and that of people who could make a change for us. Your friend, John, was that pilot. He was heading to the planet to form that bridge.'

'He needed to take them a message?' she asked.

'Yes, a message that only he could deliver because he himself had both lived the life of a slave on our planet, and earned the respect of those who dwelled on the planet he was journeying to. They deal with very few other worlds, but they trust John. His bravery has made him revered amongst their kind.'

'Who are they?' she asked, but no answer was forthcoming.

'We cannot tell you. There is someone who must not know, so the fewer who are told the better.'

Teyla frowned, a shiver running the length of her spine at their words. 'Who is this someone? Is this person the reason you have been hiding the colonel's whereabouts?'

'She is,' Yaerin nodded. 'It was vital he got through the Stargate...but now...'

'Now?' Teyla pressed.

'Now the future is uncertain. We cannot see what is to come.'

Teyla looked back out across the landscape. John was out there somewhere and now she was actually seriously contemplating going in search of him. How could she not when he might need her help?

Just then, she saw something, a ball of fire rising up into the air and mushrooming out in an explosion of flames and debris. It looked like...Could it possibly be...?

'Your friends are close by,' Yaerin told her, rising to stand at her shoulder and watch the power of the drone weapon in all its glory. 'They will come for you soon.'

Those words were almost too good to be true, but she still felt burdened. Much as she wanted to be reunited with her people, she wanted it to be _all_ of her people. If John was still missing, it would be little comfort until he was found.

She returned to the circle of the afflicted and sat with them, composing herself and waiting as patiently as she could. But the fact they could sense her approaching friends...sense their intentions...made her hopes for Sheppard fade still more. If they could sense nothing of him, perhaps there was simply nothing left of him to sense.

That thought brought an ache to her heart, one that would not go away even as she felt a breeze on her face and a jumper de- cloaked right in front of her.

'Teyla!' Rodney rushed out of the rear hatch as it opened, then stood in front of her awkwardly flapping his arms at his sides. 'You're here.'

She stood and pulled him into an embrace, one he hesitantly reciprocated in a way that reminded her of John. She'd never met two men so ill at ease with physical affection before joining their team, but she'd ensured their reticence had never stopped her demonstrating her friendship for them.

'Rodney! I am so happy to see you.'

'Yeah...me too,' he croaked, looking choked as she released him and examined him at arm's length. 'I...I'm sorry I screwed up at Ashnael's house and let that kid get my weapon.'

Teyla smiled at him, shaking her head as she tried to meet his darting gaze. 'Rodney, there was nothing you could have done to change what happened there. Our fate was sealed the moment we accepted help from that man. Have you heard any news of Colonel Sheppard?'

Now he shook his head, eyes huge and mournful. 'No...we know he escaped from the city, but after that –'

'Nothing,' she concluded for him.

He looked at his shoes, too worried to look at her.

Knowing Rodney was not good at dealing with such stresses, Teyla, as she often did, took it upon herself to be the strong one. 'We will find him, Rodney,' she assured him, squeezing his arms. 'We will go to Traginta Duo and pick up Ronon, and somewhere, somehow, we will find John and we will be a team again.'

'Sure we will,' he squeaked, his smile weak and faltering. 'You know Sheppard. He's got more lives than the proverbial cat.'

Teyla had no idea about this "proverbial cat", but smiled and nodded all the same. If the story brought Rodney comfort, she wouldn't question it. It would only make him think and re-examine things, and that was never good when times were already difficult.

'You ready to go, Miss Emmagan?' a voice called from within the jumper.

'Yes...of course,' she replied, turning now to the afflicted. 'Thank you for all you have done for me...for all of us...I will not forget my promise to help you.'

Yaerin stopped her with a gentle hand on her arm. 'We could come with you. We might still be able to help find the pilot.'

Teyla studied his face, seeing his concern, his desire to help burning bright in his ruby eyes.

'Lieutenant Harding,' she shouted back over her shoulder. 'Is there room for five more aboard your ship?'

She saw him peering around his seat to give her companions the once-over, then he nodded. 'We should be able to squeeze them in.'

'Thank you, Lieutenant,' she beamed back at him, quickly gathering the afflicted together and settling them on board.

And then they were on their way...with that empty feeling inside her still refusing to go away.

oooOOOooo

As the final set of gates closed behind their convoy, Elizabeth felt a definite air of oppression settle over her. This city out of the handful they had visited, seemed to be the darkest and most troubling, but she supposed that could just be because she knew this was where her people had been held captive for the past few days. Now, it was finally coming to an end...for some of them. With Colonel Sheppard still missing, it was going to be hard to call this a successful mission. With any luck, he would gradually make his way back to the 'gate, a 'gate now free of government control, or so Radek had told her a little over ten minutes ago.

So with that task completed, and with Teyla and Rodney now in the care of Lieutenant Harding, Elizabeth wasted no time in asking Thalaezin to guide them to the Tranaedan household, where Ronon was still being held. He did so, though the look on his face as he agreed showed just how unhappy he was at the prospect of facing the householders.

The Tranaedan home was a foreboding building, and an expensive looking place, too. Clearly money issues were something this couple didn't suffer from, their gated entrance looking like it might have cost more than her entire house back on Earth. Thalaezin left the jumper to communicate his arrival into the communication system at the gate, and just after he climbed back on board the gates slowly shifted back to grant them access to the property.

They swung shut behind them again as an ageing woman opened the door to grant them access. Her face when she saw them all disembarking from their unusual craft in their unfamiliar uniforms was a picture of wonderment, though it quickly passed, which left Elizabeth with the feeling she wasn't entirely surprised by their presence there.

'Come into the library. I'll let the magister know you're here,' she told them, showing Elizabeth, the First Minister and Lorne's team into a gaudily decorated and amply spacious room while the others waited outside.

'Thank you,' Elizabeth called after her, but the woman barely acknowledged her words.

Elizabeth wandered over to one of the many well-stocked bookshelves and studied the spines, all the titles unrecognisable to her. She wondered if this planet had its equivalents of the greats, Charles Dickens, John Steinbeck, F. Scott-Fitzgerald, and indeed, there did seem to be some prolific novelists as she saw several books under just a few names. Story telling was such a primitive form of communication, a need that had burned in mankind since their cave-dwelling days, and she found it fascinating that all the humans ever found around the Pegasus Galaxy, and the Milky Way shared this common form of entertainment and cultural preservation.

'First Minister Thalaezin. When I put in my complaint about the raid this morning, I had no idea you –'

Elizabeth turned to see a huge man with greying hair and a heavy build standing, open-mouthed in the doorway, staring at her. 'Who are these people?' he demanded, looking to the first minister for an explanation.

'I'm Dr Elizabeth Weir, and I believe you've been holding two of my people captive here.'

The man's eyes darted to her, then in Thalaezin's direction. 'So, you're not here about the raid on my house last night?'

'No, Magister Tranaedan. Much as I wish I had time to attend to such matters myself, I usually leave these things to each city's law enforcement unit. The matter of kidnapped off-worlders, however...'

Tranaedan's expression immediately darkened. 'My wife purchased the pilot. I had no idea the man was an off-worlder. He had a name that fitted, we had paperwork, the man never even mentioned he was an off-worlder to me,' he blustered. 'How was I supposed to know?'

'I understand we do have unscrupulous businessmen on this planet who have no qualms about trading the lives of free men, but you must understand we have to ask questions,' Thalaezin half-apologised. 'And that we have to give them back to their own people.'

'_Them?_' It only now appeared to strike Tranaedan that they'd been talking in the plural.

'Yes, of course, _them_.' A woman entered now, very glamorous and very obvious. She twirled a ringlet of chestnut coloured hair around her finger as she walked across the room, coming to stand beside the giant of a man. 'Didn't you realise? It was obvious from the moment you brought Romaed into our home that he and the pilot knew one another. I swear you're practically blind without that sensory.'

'Magistra Tranaedan, you're looking as beautiful as ever,' Thalaezin fawned, dipping his head to her as he interrupted their discourse. She gave him a fleeting smile in return.

'Jadrael said they had met through Ashnael,' Tranaedan hissed to his wife, glaring daggers.

'And you believed him? It was clear they were too comfortable in one another's company to be mere acquaintances. Sometimes you are so dense, Garzin,' she snorted, rolling her eyes. 'It's a wonder you ever close a successful business deal.'

'Shut up, woman!' the man rasped, grabbing her arm and shaking her until she squeaked a protest.

Having heard enough of their bickering, Elizabeth decided to intervene. 'Much as I hate to break up this moment of marital bliss, I'd like you to bring Ronon to me now,' she told them.

'Ronon?'

Again, the woman rolled her eyes. 'Oh, use your brain, Garzin. They mean Romaed.'

At that point, the magister erupted, grasping her arm again and raising his hand as if about to strike her. Major Lorne, without instruction, forced his way between them, his team also moving in to restrain the man. 'I don't think there's any need for that, Magister Tranaedan,' he said calmly. 'Just bring us Ronon...please.'

Tranaedan glared at the smaller man, but after a few seconds backed down. 'Raelzine!' he bellowed, and shortly afterwards, the woman came rushing through the door, head bowed.

'Yes, Magister.'

'Bring Romaed here.'

'Please,' Elizabeth added, making up for his lack of manners.

Raelzine looked taken aback to be spoken to that way, and even a little embarrassed, then she scurried away to carry out the instruction.

'I do not know what kind of a lesson you people are trying to teach us, but you clearly know little about handling slaves,' Tranaedan growled at them, pulling out a seat at a desk in front of the window and sitting down, looking quite overwhelmed by events. Despite his size, he appeared suddenly frail, as if his advancing years had abruptly caught with on him. 'They must respect you; treating them as friends will get you nothing but a lazy workforce.'

Elizabeth could not feel any sympathy for the man, not when he displayed such a callous disregard for human dignity. 'You're right, I don't know much about slaves, but I have met a lot of arrogant and self important people in my time,' she told him, holding her chin up high. 'I don't appreciate being patronised, Magister Tranaedan, and I'll thank you not to do it again.'

The magister's wife strode forward then, her eyes roaming all over Elizabeth's face as she broke into an annoying smirk. 'So, you're Dr Weir? The pilot said you were wilful.'

Elizabeth's smile was far colder. 'Nice try, but I'm not biting.'

A few moments later, a badly beaten Ronon entered the room behind Raelzine, his cheekbone under his left eye swollen, and his arms covers in lacerations and bruises. He broke into an instant smile, happy at seeing his people here to collect him. ''S about time,' he quipped, but his relaxed manner let them know it was nothing more than a friendly jibe.

'Sorry, we got tied up in red tape,' Elizabeth said by way of an explanation.

Ronon just shrugged his huge shoulders. 'You're here now.'

'Did these people do this to you?' she asked, sweeping a finger in the general direction of his various injuries.

'No...someone else did. But that guy beat the crap out of Sheppard,' he said, dipping his head in Tranaedan's direction.

'When I see a man leaving my wife's room when he has no place being there, I have every right to teach him a lesson.'

'Excuse me?' Elizabeth asked, blinking wide-eyed at him. 'Are you accusing Colonel Sheppard of inappropriate behaviour?'

'That would be a question my wife is far more qualified to answer,' he grunted, throwing another death glare her way.

'You'll have to forgive my husband, Dr Weir,' the woman smiled. 'He's excessively jealous.'

'Yes,' Elizabeth drawled, narrowing her eyes. 'A fact I'm sure you enjoy. Now, if you don't mind, I'd prefer it if you had this marital meltdown on your own time. We have a missing colonel to find.'

'They have a jumper here...down in the hangar. Sheppard wanted to use it to escape but we couldn't get to it.'

'Really?' Elizabeth asked, her eyes widening. 'Well, that would be our missing jumper. We're going to be needing that back once we have the colonel located.'

'But...but I only bought that yesterday,' Tranaedan raged.

'Not my problem. As soon as we have time to send through a team to check it and fly it out of here, I'm taking it back.' She gently reached out for Ronon's arm to lead him out, but Tranaedan was soon on his feet and striding past them to block their exit.

'Wait just a moment. I paid good money for this man, too. You can't take him away without giving me some form of compensation,' he demanded, his furious gaze burning into Elizabeth as if he expected her to shrivel up like a candy wrapper tossed into a fire.

Behind her, she heard the click of three P-90s now being levelled at him, but she gestured for Lorne and his men to lower them. Intimidating as the magister undoubtedly was, the situation hadn't sunk so low that they needed to resort to that level of threat.

'Ronon is a free man, Magister, as was Colonel Sheppard, your pilot. I'm sorry you were duped into parting with money for them, but that's really not my fault. I suggest you take it up with the slave trader you bought them from. The same goes for the jumper.'

'Oh, don't you worry,' he blustered, his anger clearly close to brimming over and his face reddening. 'I intend to have words with Mercator Ashnael about this matter. But I'm not releasing this man or the ship until I am adequately compensated.'

Ronon now pushed in front of her, folding his arms and staring at Tranaedan, deadpan. 'Who's gonna stop me leaving? You?'

'If I have to, yes.'

Elizabeth had had enough of their testosterone-driven posturing. She eased herself in front of Ronon again as an instruction that he should back off. 'Magister Tranaedan, First Minister Thalaezin tells me you oversee the mining programme on this planet – a very profitable business, so I hear.'

'Yes...very,' he nodded, frowning as he clearly wondered what that had to do with their current disagreement.

'I recently negotiated a deal with your government to supply equipment that would speed up the mining process and more than likely double your levels of productivity,' she smiled, seeing his eyebrows rise in surprise. 'Equipment they no doubt intend to supply to you to assist with your business.'

'Double?' he repeated, the only part of her statement that seemed to truly stick in his mind.

'Yes...we have a more mechanised process for mining back on my home world, far less reliant on slave labour. It's highly efficient. I think you'd be impressed.' She hardened her gaze at that point so there would be no doubting her conviction as she delivered the next line. 'It would be a pity if I had to rescind that trade offer over something as small as this, don't you think?'

Somewhere behind them, Elizabeth heard a slow handclap start up, along with a peel of laughter. 'Now that, darling husband, is how to do business,' Magistra Tranaedan snorted, unable to hide her pleasure at his humiliation.

Shaking with anger, he stepped aside, refusing to meet Elizabeth's gaze. 'Go...take him if he means that much to you.'

'Thank you,' Elizabeth smiled, and without another word she walked to the front door, where Raelzine opened it to let them all out again.

_So that was the great and powerful Magister Tranaedan_, she thought as they headed back to their jumper. _Clearly more brawn than brains._

The first minister hurried along beside her. 'I'd like to congratulate you on the way you handled the magister. He is not an easy man to stand up to.'

'No, well, I have a feeling that's because not many people try it,' she told him, mounting the rear ramp and taking up her seat behind the pilot's chair. 'Other than his wife, apparently. I certainly wouldn't want to be in her shoes now those doors are closed.'

She gave the stupendously large house a final glance as Lorne set their jumper in motion. Part of her felt glad that Sheppard had escaped, certain that his ability to do that would have infuriated the magister. But in doing so, he'd now become lost in the vastness of the Centum Civis and all its surrounding lands.

If he was out there and injured, and by some sheer stroke of luck still alive despite everything this planet had thrown at him, they needed to find him fast and take him home.

oooOOOooo

It had taken him an age to regain his breath, but Sheppard felt quite calm now in the solitude and quiet of that white room. The blood on his wrists from tugging against his cuffs had dried up ages ago, as had his throat again, but he didn't mind, it was better than putting up with Ashnael's company. The creep had watched him thrash and struggle until he'd practically laughed himself inside out, and then he'd just left him there bleeding without so much as a "by your leave".

Still...this was definitely better...except that the isolation gave him time to think about what he'd said about Ronon. That had to be a lie. Ronon had been fine at the Tranaedan house. He would have said if...No, he realised. Ronon wouldn't have said anything, just like he wouldn't have, either. It just wasn't something you talked about, not men like them.

He hadn't only been thinking about Ronon, of course. There were a lot of young boys in that house and he knew at least one of them had been hurt by the...the English language didn't actually have a word strong enough to describe what Ashnael was – he was beneath what actual language could express. Sheppard stopped himself, closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He was even letting the bastard get under his skin when he wasn't there. He had to stay calm. He had to keep a clear head.

The weasel had done him one favour because, sick as he still felt, his temperature was down and so he was managing to stay more focused, even if he was focusing on all the wrong things. It helped not having any intrusions from the dead sensory, of course. That was definitely a distraction, and he'd already wasted enough time on trying to work out whether the man was really talking to him or whether he was just another fever-fuelled hallucination.

To his right, Sheppard heard the door pull back. He didn't even bother to open his eyes. He didn't need or care to see the man. Just the fact he was breathing the same air as him again was setting all his follicles to rigid attention.

'I brought you something.'

Sheppard didn't respond, but heard the sound of something being placed on the floor near him. His right cuff released; he felt the relief in the resistance instantly. Curiosity piqued, he cracked open an eye and spotted a tray of food and a cup of water sitting on the floor beside him. Unimpressed, he closed it again.

'Not hungry, John?' Ashnael asked, nudging his hip with his foot.

For just a second, Sheppard contemplated grabbing the offending foot and throwing him off balance, but just for a second. Then, he decided he wasn't worth the trouble.

'Dezrin has gone to a lot of trouble to make that for you. The least you can do is eat it,' Ashnael taunted, but Sheppard was having none of it...at least, he wasn't until Ashnael put the barrel of a gun against his forehead. He opened his eyes just as he powered up Ronon's magnum, and from the colour of its power cells, he could see it was set to kill.

Okay, he supposed a meal wasn't worth dying over.

'Sit up, John.'

Manoeuvring his still secured wrist within the cuff, he managed to get himself into a sitting position and lean on that hand for support. He noticed Ashnael had changed his clothes, now wearing something more casual and loose fitting that still looked a hell of a lot cleaner and more comfortable than what he had on. Everything – the tunic, the trousers, and the belt – were all a deep shade of red. Apparently, he shared a liking for that colour with the magistra...possibly for the same reason.

Ashnael pushed the tray toward him with his red slippered foot. Even his footwear matched.

'Eat.'

Everything on the tray looked edible enough, though the thought occurred to him that Ashnael might have poisoned it, or spat on in or...no, he really didn't want to think about what else he might have done to it out of spite. His stomach lurched, and what little appetite he'd thought he had deserted him. He picked up the water and sipped at that, finding it tasted normal enough, but it was taken from his grasp before he could get much more than another mouthful.

'I said eat, John, not drink.'

So that was how Ashnael planned to play this game. "John" had to be a good little slave and follow his instructions to the letter. Or what? Or he'd shoot him. Yeah, he supposed he didn't put that past him. Right now, he was just trying to weigh up whether he cared enough about that to do as he was told.

'John...'

Yes, he got the point! Casting his eyes over what lay in front of him, he picked up some bread and lifted it to his mouth.

Ashnael squatted before him and caught his wrist. 'Not like that, John. If you want to behave like an animal, you can eat like one. Now get on your knees and eat it.'

He snatched the bread from Sheppard's hand and threw it back on the tray, stepping back to watch him.

From his restrained position on the floor, Sheppard looked up at the repulsive man with the increasingly broadening grin and fantasised about putting his boot through his face. The image made him laugh. His laugh made Ashnael lose it.

Lunging forward and grabbing a handful of black locks, Ashnael forced Sheppard's head down toward the tray. 'I said eat it, John. Now be a good boy and do as I tell you.'

His face was only inches from the food, and it hurt like hell to hold that position, his scalp and neck burning in protest, but Sheppard stubbornly dug in and refused to do it. He wasn't an animal. There was only one animal in this room and he would not bow and scrape to him.

Eventually, Ashnael let up, striding away and glaring at him from the far wall. 'I'm not impressed, John. Not impressed at all.'

'Yeah...sorry about that,' Sheppard drawled, breaking his silence at last.

The throw away comment again enraged his captor, who rushed at him and kicked the tray so hard it ricocheted of his shoulder then carried on to the wall behind him, where most of the food splattered and slipped down to the floor. It stung, but the knowledge he'd scored some psychological points against Ashnael made it worthwhile.

The weasel grabbed his hair again, forcing his head back so he had to look at him up close and way too personal. 'The next time you say that word, you'd better mean it,' he hissed, his eyes roaming over Sheppard's face. He could see the man was getting excited again, fired up by even that slight rebellion. He decided then to rein it in. He absolutely refused to feed this man what he so thrived on.

Ashnael let go of him, his fingers deliberately sliding down his cheek as he did so. 'Do you know what this room is?' he asked, looking back over his shoulder at him as he strolled away, twirling Ronon's gun. Sheppard remained silent and sullen. 'No? It's my sparring room. It's seen a lot of action, I can tell you.'

Well, that explained the change of clothes. Ashnael's outfit was definitely something he could spar in comfortably, even if it did look like it cost him more money than Sheppard could earn in a month.

Ashnael slipped a card from the pocket of his trousers, and slotted it into a niche in the wall that Sheppard hadn't even noticed. A locker opened up and he pulled out a couple of short metal rods before placing Ronon's gun within the alcove and snapping the door shut again. For a moment, Sheppard thought they were more cattle prods and he was about to get a double dose, but then Ashnael flicked his wrist and the rod in his right hand extended into a baton. The other he rolled across the floor to Sheppard. It stopped when it collided with his shin. He looked down at it, but didn't pick it up.

'I suspect you will be a very different fighter compared to Ronon. He's all about brute strength, using his sheer size, speed and ferocity to overwhelm an opponent. You don't have that advantage, so I think you'll fight a different kind of battle. Pick up your weapon.'

Sheppard just glowered from his position still cuffed to the floor. He wasn't about to pick it up and give Ashnael an excuse for beating the crap out of him when he could barely even move.

'Pick. It. Up.'

Ashnael's baton sliced through the air and cracked against Sheppard's cuffed arm. Again, it stung then built to a steady burning sensation he blocked out as best he could. Since refusal to pick up the baton hadn't spared him the rod, he figured he might as well comply after all. So he picked it up and flicked his wrist, making the shaft extend and lock in place.

'Better,' Ashnael nodded, circling him. 'I think you're going to use very different tactics than Ronon did. You're not built for hand-to-hand combat; you're not strong enough to overpower people, especially not at the moment. I think you're the kind of man who fights on his wits, much like I do. You'll be watching me...looking for a weakness.' He bent down and whispered in his ear, 'But I don't have any. Do you?'

Sheppard shrugged him off, sorely tempted to lash out. But that was what Ashnael wanted. That was how he got his kicks, so he wouldn't give him the pleasure.

Ashnael chuckled at his pitiful rebuff, walking around in front of him before backing up a few steps. Then, he released Sheppard's other cuff. He tentatively moved his sore arm, flexing his fingers.

'Stand up.'

Sheppard thought about staying put, but knew it wouldn't do him any good. So he clambered to his feet, feeling ungainly as he stumbled and swayed until he found his centre of balance. His weapon arm hung limply at his side because he barely had the strength to lift it. He couldn't compete with Ronon and Teyla at this kind of thing when he was in full health. This was likely to be a massacre.

As if to confirm his fears, Ashnael twirled his weapon just like Ronon would. Sheppard kept his eyes on the man, turning as he walked around him, keeping him in sight.

'Hmmm, cautious. I expected that,' Ashnael nodded as if in approval. 'You have intelligent eyes. I can see that now I look at them.'

Not happy with the thought the man was looking that closely at any part of him, and distracted by that disgust, he allowed Ashnael to get a blow in, taking his legs from under him.

He hit the floor hard, the damaged skin in his back pulling against the sutures knitting it together. His captor pressed a knee on his breastbone, pushing his baton down across his throat. 'Careless, John. I didn't think you would be that easy to beat.'

Struggling for breath, Sheppard bucked and squirmed and eventually threw the creep off, much to Ashnael's obvious amusement...and enjoyment. The man simply rolled back to his feet without missing a beat, leaving Sheppard to rise rather more slowly.

With his captor doing that annoying twirling thing again, Sheppard resumed his defensive stance, turning in time with Ashnael's movements, keeping him in his view the whole time.

'You shouldn't feel too bad, of course. I took Ronon down almost as easily, and I got the impression he was far more experienced at this than you are. You're clearly a novice.'

So, he was trying to gain a psychological edge over him now. That was okay; that kind of thing he could deal with. That came as part and parcel of military resistance training. No worries there. That baton on the other hand...

Ashnael faked a few attempts to hit him, then aimed a shot straight for his head, one he managed to block, though the reverberations it sent through the baton shook his whole body. His captor apparently wasn't pulling his punches.

'Nice,' Ashnael grinned. 'Now you come at me.'

Sheppard lowered his baton to his side. Even if he'd wanted to take this guy on, he just didn't have the energy it required, let alone the skill. For a second, his eyes wandered to that concealed locker. If he could just get the key card...

Ashnael rushed him, knocking him off balance and sending him stumbling back against the wall. It forced the wind out of him and the impact of his head against the wall left him dizzy, but that wasn't the worst thing. Ashnael pressed in against him, and it was clear his excitement was quickly mounting. 'You took your mind off the game again, Sheppard. You've got to stay sharp...stay focused,' he panted, his breath hot on Sheppard's neck as he strained his face away from him. 'You have to do better than this. You're already at a disadvantage with all your physical injuries...' He forced his hand up Sheppard's vest, pressing hard on the stitched wounds until he forced a reluctant cry from him.

His pain and his writhing seemed to send Ashnael into whole new levels of rapture, making him press harder, gouging fingernails into cuts only freshly healed and tissue too weak to withstand the pressure. Warm trails wormed their way down to his waistband before he finally managed to push Ashnael's hand away and fell forward onto his hands and knees, clutching his now open wounds as if he thought his guts were about to come spilling out if he dared to let go of them. The pain left him retching and the sensation of the cruel bastard now pressing in against his back did little to alleviate that.

'Did I hurt you, John?' he asked, a rhetorical question since the answer was obvious. 'Good.'

Ashnael stroked the straining tendons and muscles in Sheppard's quivering arm while he tried to master his dry heaving. Sheppard wanted the man to get off him, but at the same time knew showing this was a big issue for him was revealing one of those "weaknesses" he was so keen on uncovering. So he shut his mind to the touches and thought about beating the little weasel to a bloody pulp.

'You know, aside from nicely filling my coffers, you've brought me nothing but bad luck since you arrived,' the man rasped, increasing the pressure until Sheppard's arm could no longer support their combined weight. Sheppard landed flat on his stomach, exacerbating the pain. 'First you brought a Wraith half-breed into my home, risking my life, then you take away my fascinating new slave, and then this morning, Minister Callaedin refused me permissions for the equipment I need to acquire Magister Tranaedan's new sensory. Now I have no way of getting into one of those enclosures. And something tells me I might find you were to blame for that somehow as well.'

He had a point, but Sheppard wasn't about to let on. He lay still, trying not to do anything to get this guy any more wound up than he already was. Unfortunately, Ashnael was doing a pretty good job of working himself up into a frenzy without any help from him. In fact, he was pretty sure the guy was breathing in his scent now, so when he felt fingers running through his hair, that was just too much to take. Sheppard retaliated, ramming his elbow into Ashnael's ribs and knocking him clean off him. He scrambled away while Ashnael grumbled about the fact he'd fallen into some of the spilled food, spoiling his perfect sparring outfit.

Then, in an instant he turned on Sheppard, lashing out in an assault that seemed to come from all directions at once, hitting his arms legs and torso until all he could do was fall to the floor and curl up against it to protect himself.

It stopped as abruptly as it had started, and Sheppard listened to the man's slow deliberate steps walking away from him, hoping it was over for now.

'Dezrin, could you come in here and clean up some food. It's making my sparring area dangerous,' Ashnael ordered, and Sheppard dared to unfurl just enough to see he was speaking into a communication device near the door. It wasn't over at all.

He straightened out and got back to his feet, backing up to the wall and leaving his weapon where it had fallen on the floor. He didn't want the damn thing any more; all it did was tie up an arm he could use more effectively in other ways...like holding in his entrails.

Dezrin soon arrived with cleaning supplies. He hurried in, casting only the briefest furtive glance Sheppard's way before getting down on his knees and beginning to scrape up the food debris.

'Dezrin is a fine example of how a slave should behave. I've owned him for six years now and he's blossomed into a fine young man in this cycle; strong, fast, but never overstepping the mark,' Ashnael sneered as he stood over him, watching him work. 'You could learn a lot from him, John.'

Sheppard instincts told him this was about to get ugly. Ashnael was keyed up and looking for a way to vent. The boy, who he estimated to be no more than seventeen, was a sitting duck for the fruit loop with the baton.

'Dezrin, eat that food for me would you?' his owner asked in what was almost a convincingly sweet voice.

Dezrin peered up at him, the pain of humiliation lighting his eyes, but he did as asked, picking up a handful of food and taking a tiny bite.

'Without using your hands,' Ashnael added.

The young man's expression showed his weariness, a resignation far beyond his years, as he dropped the food to the floor and lowered his face to it, doing his master's bidding.

Behind him Ashnael laughed, then stuck his foot on the back of the boy's neck, 'Eat faster. I want this all cleaned up!'

The boy tried to follow the instructions, gagging as he swallowed mouthfuls of food detritus all mingled together with the water that had spilled, while Ashnael folded into more mocking laughter.

Something inside Sheppard snapped. Forgetting his injuries, he launched at the man, flinging him to the ground and pummelling him, drawing blood and the sight of it spurring him on. Nothing else in that room mattered, only beating this bastard until he was incapable of hurting anyone any more.

And if it hadn't been for the cuffs, he might have managed it. In the heat of the moment, he didn't see Ashnael fumble out the control, and as he drew back his arm to throw another punch it kept moving backwards, tipping him off balance and off Ashnael, landing him on his back where his second cuff then also secured him.

He lay there, panting and inwardly cursing himself for not having the strength to land a knockout punch, listening to Ashnael groaning somewhere near his feet.

Then, the man slowly pushed up, wiping blood from his mouth with his crimson sleeve and spreading it across his chin. Crawling up the full length of Sheppard's body, he hung his face over his, blood still dripping onto him from his swollen and split lip.

'Well, well, John,' he panted, smiling though it made him wince. 'I think we just found your weakness.'

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**A/N: I know, I know! Another cliffie. I promise your patience will be rewarded though. :)**


	34. Chapter 34

**A/N: Thanks again to everyone for all the reviews. This one has taken me much longer to finish than I thought it would, but I'm almost there. :)**

* * *

**Chapter 34 **

After a few charged seconds with his face right in Sheppard's, Ashnael sat back on his haunches, still straddling him. 'I thought you wouldn't fight, John,' he sneered, spitting out a mixture of blood and saliva onto Sheppard's chest. 'Seems to me you're willing to take up the challenge if sufficiently motivated.'

Sheppard shifted his view back to that fleck on the ceiling again. The man had drawn him out and he'd given too much of himself away already. He didn't want to say any more.

'Not talking now? And you think that will work?'

Though he knew it wouldn't, Sheppard couldn't think of a single damned thing he wanted to say right at that moment. This was a no win situation, and he needed time to think...time Ashnael wouldn't give him with his constant jibes, put downs, insinuations and physical harassment.

'I hope you're still eating back there, Dezrin,' the man growled, turning to look back over his shoulder at the boy. 'I haven't told you to stop.'

Unable to ignore what was going on any longer, Sheppard rolled his head so he could just see the boy past Ashnael, watching as he bowed his head down to the food and began to eat it again. If he'd swallowed his pride and eaten it himself, the boy wouldn't even be here now, and that was a realisation that left a very bitter taste in his mouth, far worse than that food would have given him. But swallowing his pride had never been his strong suit, not when dealing with people like Ashnael. Still, it looked like he was going to have to find a way to do it now.

'Stop. You've made your point,' Sheppard growled, at last speaking to him.

Ashnael dropped his baton and grabbed Sheppard's face with both blood-smeared hands. He stared into his eyes, his gaze so intense it set Sheppard's heart thumping. Much as he tried to convince himself he could handle this guy, the truth was he was totally freaked out by him. 'Have I?' Ashnael asked. 'Do you get it now? Because I'm not sure you really _do _get it yet. I still think you believe you're better than me.'

Sheppard glared back at him, lost as to what he should say or do now. To him, Ashnael was worse than the kind of thing people hoped they didn't step in on the sidewalk, but if he told him that, someone was going to get hurt, and probably not him.

'That's not what I think,' he told him. And it was kind of the truth; he was too busy worrying about what the man was capable of to have even considered which of the two of them was the better man.

'Really?' Ashnael's grin widened, setting a new trickle of blood loose down his chin. He laid his hands on Sheppard's chest, leaning heavily on him. 'You forget, John. I can see everything you're thinking in those intelligent eyes of yours. There's no point in lying to me.'

Sheppard averted his gaze, unable to maintain eye contact. The guy's hands were digging in painfully on his ribcage, but at the same time his fingers were massaging into his pecs, making his skin crawl. Added to that, his face was way too close for comfort. He closed his eyes and pleaded with whatever powers were up there to intervene.

Thankfully, Ashnael climbed off him then, giving him room to breathe again, sweeping up his dropped weapon as he backed away. Sheppard's vest clung to him with a mingling of sweat, his own blood and that mixture of saliva and blood Ashnael had just dripped and spat all over him. He longed to rip it off and rid himself of it, but considering his circumstances he realised that probably wouldn't be the best idea, even if he could do it.

He lifted his head to watch what the man did next, seeing him approach Dezrin and stroke the young man's dark hair. 'John doesn't want to fight me, Dezrin. But I have a feeling there's some way I can convince him. What do you think?'

Dezrin looked up from his disgusting chore with frightened eyes. It seemed his years of experience of living with this man meant he understood the way he thought. The boy shrugged, as if hoping the pretence of ignorance would somehow persuade Ashnael to deviate from his course, but it was clear that hope was a hollow one. Sheppard could read how he really felt from every inch of his body language. The boy knew his humiliation wasn't finished yet.

Ashnael raised the baton and cracked it down hard on Dezrin's back. The youngster's arms gave way and he cried out, setting Sheppard's teeth on edge. Every atom of his being made him want to step in, but he couldn't while he remained cuffed to the floor.

'Stop!' he yelled, and Ashnael instantly snapped his head round in Sheppard's direction.

'If you want me to stop, do something about it. This is your fault, John. If you won't fight, I have to take my frustration out on someone.'

He hit the young man again, making him curl up to protect his head. The sight awoke feelings in Sheppard he couldn't ignore. He'd been reduced to this foetal position himself several times now on Haraendon, and he wouldn't be the cause of this boy's degradation. Whatever problems it might bring him, he was going to have to play the game Ashnael's way.

Just as the man was about to bring his baton down on Dezrin again, Sheppard shouted, 'All right. I'll do it!'

Ashnael stopped, slowly lowering his arm to his side. 'I thought you might say that,' he smirked, dabbing at his still bleeding lip with the back of his hand. 'Now we can have some real fun.'

Those words and the enjoyment Ashnael was clearly gaining from both his and Dezrin's misery ignited Sheppard's temper again. Whether it was wise or not, he had to say something to try to wipe that infuriating smile off his face. 'Yeah, I'll fight you, Ashnael. But you should know, if you insist on doing this, I _will_ win.'

His promise didn't have quite the desired effect, setting Ashnael off in another fit of laughter. When he managed to bring it under control, he paced over to Sheppard, standing astride him before dropping to his knees and winding him as he landed in his stomach. 'I love a bit of false bravado, John. That's a quality you and Ronon both have in common. Perhaps you're not such a bad replacement for him after all...yes, I think you're definitely growing on me.'

The way the man looked at him again sent shudders right through him, but Sheppard just held still and waited for him to move. Ashnael might think what he'd said was false bravado, but he meant every word of it. If Ashnael insisted that they fight, he would regret it. He'd make sure of that.

After several long moments of mental undressing and whatever-the-hell else was going on in that twisted mind of his, Ashnael climbed back off him, then, when he'd put enough distance between them, released Sheppard's cuffs.

'Pick up your weapon,' he instructed, sounding like a cracked record.

'I don't need your damned weapon,' Sheppard told him, rolling out the kinks in his shoulders. 'I'm better off without it.'

Ashnael's eyebrows twitched up, but he nodded his agreement. 'Very well, though I suspect you will regret that decision.'

The man began a slow prowl around Sheppard, performing that nerve-jangling weapon spinning again. Sheppard kept up his defensive position, his mind racing for a way out of this. Fighting wasn't going to get him anywhere; this guy was clearly as skilled as Teyla and Ronon in this form of combat, so whether he took up the baton or not, he'd be out manoeuvred and out-classed.

'I admire your caution...your self-restraint,' Ashnael told him. 'And considering the extent of your physical injuries, you show good posture – a strong back, broad shoulders, not too tense –'

'Cut the crap,' Sheppard told him. 'You're supposed to be fighting not offering a personal critique.'

Ashnael smiled, though it clearly hurt him to do it. His left eye was swelling to the point it was almost shut and he had some substantial bruising in his jaw line on the same side. Those things, along with the fat lip, gave Sheppard a certain amount of pleasure as he watched the man circling. They were proof he could be caught out. He just had to find a way to do it again.

'I'm only assessing what's soon to be mine,' the creep grinned, twirling his weapon again.

Sheppard dearly wanted to rip the thing right out of his hands and ram it down his throat, but figured that would take better timing than he was actually capable of right now. 'Sorry to disappoint you, but that's not gonna happen,' he countered, wishing it had sounded more like a fact than a challenge.

'Really. Why so certain?'

'Because Magistra Tranaedan tried it and failed, and she had one hell of an advantage that you don't have.'

Ashnael looked intrigued. 'That woman has something I don't?'

'Yeah...aside from the obvious things,' Sheppard quipped.

Ashnael pulled a sour face. 'I'm not interested in anything the likes of Magistra Tranaedan has to offer.'

'Yeah, I think you've made that patently obvious.'

Dezrin shifted position on the floor, no longer eating, just crouching and watching. He looked so pitiful down there, huddled near the wall, that Sheppard lost focus for just a second. Ashnael seized on it immediately, hitting his left ankle so hard it collided with his right ankle and took both legs from under him. Sheppard crashed to the floor, but had the presence of mind to instantly roll to the side, hearing the clang as Ashnael's baton thudded down on the spot he'd just occupied. He scrambled back to his feet, feeling the pull in various places, his body aching from his old injuries and now from new ones, too. And then they were back to the circling.

'Nice recovery,' Ashnael called to him. 'You know, I'm impressed by your strength. You're a very deceptive man. I was considering trying to bulk you up a little, but I really am starting to see the advantages of your build...and not purely because you'll be much easier to overpower that way.'

'Dream on,' Sheppard growled. The guy was smaller than him, although size wasn't everything. Now he wished he hadn't just thought that.

Ashnael launched for him, but Sheppard anticipated him this time, side stepping and coming around behind him, swinging a punch to his right kidney region that clearly hurt the man. Ashnael staggered and caught himself against the wall, so Sheppard dived after him grabbing the back of his head and slamming it into the white metal. Of course, sensing his opponent had the upper hand, Ashnael pulled out the cuff control and activated it again.

'You son of a bitch!' Sheppard yelled as his wrists and back slammed against the wall, giving Ashnael time to recover. 'You said you wanna fight me, so fight me!'

'I will...on my terms.' Ashnael put a hand to his forehead, wiping away yet another trickle of blood from the small cut that had opened up there. He looked at the scarlet streaks on his fingers, then forced them into Sheppard's mouth. 'Here, taste your moment of victory. It's the last one you'll get.'

Though he wanted to gag, Sheppard controlled the reaction long enough to bite down on Ashnael's invasive digits...until the man dropped his baton and slammed his fist into Sheppard's stomach.

They separated, Sheppard left wheezing and dangling from his cuffs, Ashnael dancing around and howling as he clutched his injured hand. Then, Ashnael started to laugh.

Sheppard lifted his head, hardly able to believe the man found any of this funny. But one thing was for certain, the way Ashnael was looking at him now wasn't funny at all. When the man tried to approach him Sheppard kicked out, feeling the pain in places that were about as far from funny as things got, but determined to keep him at bay.

Ashnael took his time, watching his movements and eventually catching both of Sheppard's legs and holding them still while he continued to struggle. 'You're wasting energy on a futile fight, John. That's never a good tactic.'

'This whole fight is futile 'cos you insist on cheating. Now get your damn hands off me!'

He strained and tugged to get his legs free, but Ashnael clung to them, using his body weight to hold them still. 'I'm not about to let go when you're this angry, John. You'll probably kick my brains out. You calm down, and I'll think about it.'

The sensation of the man's warm hands kneading his legs, fingers digging into the backs of his thighs while his chest, heart pounding, pressed against his knees, made Sheppard want to shake him off more than he'd wanted anything in all his time incarcerated on this planet. He could feel Ashnael's excited panting through the fabric on his legs as the freak dug his chin into his muscle to add more pressure, his grip snaking tighter the more he tried to free himself. He had to bottle it up, had to be smart, had to play the game. So, he faked a defeated look, hanging his head and closing his eyes as he stopped kicking and let Ashnael think he was persuaded.

'That's better.' Ashnael let go quickly, moving back out of range. 'I suppose you can't help being frightened. I'll grant you some leeway for that.'

'Frightened?' Sheppard laughed in his face at that comment. 'I've taken on entire armies of Wraith darts hell-bent on killing me. Why the hell would you think I'm frightened of you?'

'Because in me you see the truth about what all men really are. I embrace the secret urges that lurk within us all. I see the beauty in other men, in their pain and suffering. I relish the challenge...enjoy the torment I can inflict on others. You're a warrior, John. If you're honest, you'll realise you enjoy those things, too. Some part of you even likes the way I treat you. I give you a way to explore your hidden feelings and needs, without having to accept any responsibility for them. Here you can do all the things your mind has always told you are wrong without any regrets. You're afraid of the freedom I offer you.'

Those words took a few moments to actually sink in. But once he'd fully digested them, Sheppard began to laugh again. 'You know what the scariest thing is? The fact you actually believe that crap!' he snorted, glaring at Ashnael from where he remained pinned. 'I always wondered how men like you managed to sleep at night, and now I know.'

Ashnael's face dropped, and for the first time he looked genuinely shaken. Apparently, no one had actually spoken out against him like this before, and spurred on by the effect, Sheppard continued. 'The truth is, you're not a reflection of the rest of us. You're a deviant, a creep, a pariah. Complete scum. People don't like you, they put up with you. And you don't give anyone freedom. You steal their choices, oppress them, make them feel that they have to agree with you and do what you say if they want to survive. And it's my job to stop people like you from hurting them.'

'Shut up,' Ashnael hissed, his lips quivering into a scowl.

'No, I think if this is the life choice you've made, you need to hear the truth. I don't want this, Dezrin doesn't want this, and those other kids you have slaving away in this house sure as hell don't want this. So, if you can accept that and still sleep at night, go ahead. Do your worst.'

The room was suddenly oddly silent. Ashnael glowered, apparently unable to find his tongue now with the truth laid out bare for him. Even Dezrin seemed to be holding his breath, anticipating a backlash.

Sheppard just continued to stare him down. If this guy wanted to believe he was scared, then he was about to find out just how wrong he was.

'Is he right, Dezrin?' Ashnael finally asked. 'Or do you enjoy your life here with me?'

Dezrin, clearly petrified, cast a frightened and perhaps apologetic glance Sheppard's way, then whispered, 'I am happy to serve, Mercator Ashnael.'

'I'm sorry, I didn't hear that,' he said, theatrically cupping his ear.

'I said, I'm happy to serve, Mercator Ashnael,' Dezrin repeated, forcing his voice out more strongly.

Ashnael strode his way, then dragged him over to Sheppard by the arm. 'Did you hear that, John? He says he's happy. And by the time I'm finished with you, you'll be saying the same thing.'

'Get real.'

'We shall see,' Ashnael smirked. 'Dezrin, pick up John's weapon.'

There was a fleeting second of hesitation before Dezrin did as he was asked.

'Hit him'

The boy's jaw dropped a fraction, and he looked imploringly at his master as if hoping he would rescind the order.

'Go on!' Ashnael urged, pushing him forward. 'Do it or I'll beat you senseless.'

Dezrin raised the baton, his hand shaking violently as tears sprung to his eyes. _Oh, yeah. The picture of happiness,_ Sheppard thought, giving Dezrin the tiniest of dip of his head to ease his conscience.

The boy hit him, but there wasn't much force behind it. It barely registered in the midst of his other pains.

'Come on, boy. Use more force,' Ashnael squawked at him.

Dezrin drew back his arm and brought the baton down on him, this time making harder contact with Sheppard's shoulder. Sheppard choked back a cry, managing to more or less stifle it, but he could see the effect it had on the boy. Dezrin's tears rolled down his cheeks as he sobbed silently, traumatised by what he was being asked to do.

'Harder!' Ashnael yelled in the youngster's ear, making him cry even more.

'This is between you and me, Ashnael. Leave him out of it.' Sheppard yelled back at him. 'You wanna hit me, _you_ do it!'

'Dezrin is happy to serve,' Ashnael sneered. 'He enjoys making me happy.'

'Yeah, I can see that,' Sheppard fired back at him. 'And I suppose they're tears of joy. Cut the crap and just admit you're a coward who can't do his own dirty work.'

Pushing Dezrin aside, Ashnael finally released his cuffs. 'A coward am I? Would a coward set you loose?'

'He might, if he was planning on keeping that cuff control to hand.'

Ashnael smirked now, nodding. 'Nice try, John. But I'm not letting go of it. I'm not quite that stupid.'

'Or brave,' Sheppard countered.

Ashnael cracked his baton against Sheppard's ribs, doubling him over. 'Bravery isn't everything, John. I think you'll soon realise that.'

'Thanks for the tip,' he groaned, straightening carefully as soon as the pain would allow him to.

As he did, Ashnael struck out again, thudding his baton against the side of his left thigh. His leg momentarily buckled, but Sheppard regained his balance and managed to stay upright, more through luck than any definite skill. Ashnael grinned fiercely, unable to resist another jibe. 'I'll make this interesting, shall I? I'll keep fighting you until you can take no more, but if you yield, Dezrin takes your punishment.'

Sheppard narrowed his eyes. 'You really are a low-life piece of fil –'

A smack to the side of his head cut him off in mid-rant, and this time he dropped like a dead-weight. He was only out for a few seconds, at least that was how it felt, but he came too with Ashnael straddling him again, sitting on his stomach. 'You were saying?' he asked, tilting his head.

Actually, Sheppard couldn't even recall what he'd been saying. A warm trickle ran down his temple, and Ashnael watched it with obvious glee. 'Now we're even,' he sneered leaning in before Sheppard's senses had fully returned and licking away some of the blood.

That helped Sheppard to focus again, and he bucked the man off, rolling onto his hands and knees and crawling away while Ashnael gathered himself. He slumped against the wall, watching his attacker approach again. 'Where is that bravado now, John?' Ashnael goaded, following him. 'Look at you, pathetically crawling away and cowering from me. Where is this fight you promised me? I thought you told me you would win!'

Yeah, that sounded like that kind of thing he would have said, but he couldn't recall it right now. He blinked Ashnael into sharper focus, some of the fog in his head starting to clear. 'I will,' he asserted, though right now, he wasn't really sure how he would pull that off. Ashnael reached out cautiously toward his head again as if trying to stroke a vicious dog, only to have his hand batted away. 'Back off.'

'You're going to have to get used to more contact than that, John. Perhaps after weeks of nothing but violence you'll learn to appreciate my gentler moments.'

'Not gonna happen.' Sheppard pushed up, sliding his back up the wall until he was on his feet again, reliant for a few second on the support it loaned him to keep him that way.

Ashnael backed up, nodding. 'You have an admirable spirit, John. Part of me hopes you never lose that...it gives me quite a thrill.'

And while Sheppard thought about just how disgusted that idea left him, Ashnael spun round and whacked his legs from under him again. Another crunching collision with the floor left his vision whirling, his brain slow to catch up with his descent. Ashnael kicked him over onto his front, sitting on him and dragging his head back with the baton clasped in both his hands, effectively cutting off Sheppard's airway.

As he desperately tried to force the baton away, Ashnael pressed his cheek to the side of his face and rasped, 'How's this, John? Is this too close for you? You could always yield and let Dezrin suffer. After all, he had no qualms about striking you to save himself earlier.'

Ashnael pulled back harder, shutting out what tiny bit of air had been getting through. Sheppard could already feel the effects, his limbs growing heavy and sluggish, his responses slowing, the fight leaving him. But no way would he give in. He couldn't sacrifice Dezrin to save his own ass.

Just as his vision began to tunnel, Ashnael released the pressure, and Sheppard fell forward face first, his cheekbone smacking hard on the cold, metal floor. Ashnael, still sitting on him, stroked his hair back from his sweat-streaked forehead, then bent forward and whispered, 'How much longer before you break, John? How much more of this can your battered body take before you have to give up and watch the boy suffer?'

Sheppard felt a rivulet of drool slither down past his ear, as Ashnael, barely able to contain his exhilaration, pressed his lips to the back of his neck, his tongue flickering against his hot skin. He dearly wanted to fight him off, but without the strength necessary to do that, he was forced to just lay there and let him carry on, concentrating on not barfing as the psycho nuzzled into his hair, this time absolutely definitely breathing in the smell of him. Had Ronon endured this, or even worse as Ashnael had suggested? It was hard to think of his friend going through this kind of ordeal and keeping it from him.

The man on his back shifted, groaning in a way that Sheppard really didn't want to hear while the guy was on top of him, his hands now wandering down Sheppard's sides and hips, his lips shifting back to his neck and brushing across the fine hairs his touches had made stand on end. Sheppard tried to will himself to move, but though he got his arms in position to push up, Ashnael's weight on top of his own was too much for them to lift. He was stuck until Ashnael moved...and the only way he knew of to get him to move was to keep fighting, no matter how useless that was. What he needed to do was find Ashnael's weakness...something that would give him an advantage.

His eyes wandered to Dezrin, back pressed to the wall and looking horrified at the display. Then it struck him. The kid...the kid might actually be willing to help him.

Though still feeling weak, he managed to shrug his shoulder enough to break the contact between Ashnael's mouth and his skin. 'I'm not done yet,' he growled.

'I was hoping you'd say that,' the man whispered, too quiet for Dezrin to hear, and then pushed up off him, much to Sheppard's relief.

He stayed there a short while, catching his breath and waiting for at least some of his strength to return. He would have happily just stayed there and fallen asleep if he hadn't been worried what compromising situation he might wake up to.

'Dezrin, since John's continued input is in your best interest, perhaps you could help him up,' he heard Ashnael suggest from somewhere behind him.

_And thank you, Ashnael, _Sheppard thought in response. Now he could speak to the kid without making it obvious.

He felt Dezrin's hand catch hold of his arm, the other resting gently on his back, and he pushed up himself as the boy helped him. Then he faked a relapse, throwing his arm around Dezrin for support. With his head now close to the boy's, he whispered, 'Distract him.'

He saw a moment of panic flit across Dezrin's expression, as if he were terrified to be put in that position. But that quickly changed to determination, and an almost imperceptible nod let Sheppard know he would do what he could.

That promise secured, Sheppard got up and faced Ashnael again. His throat hurt and his head ached, but he'd been through worse than this. He could keep going a while longer.

Ashnael's tongue flicked across his dry lips, his eyes flashing in challenge. 'Come on then, John. Show me what you have left.'

Right now, Sheppard wasn't sure he could do much more than spit in the man's face, and even that was doubtful since he was so thirsty. So instead, he threw himself at Ashnael with all the speed he could muster, slamming the man against the wall before he could swing his baton to stop him. He landed a few solid punches to the man's ribs before Ashnael levered him back and booted him off. Then Sheppard stumbled back and fell on his butt, again, rolling aside to avoid the first strike of the man's baton, but unfortunately Ashnael came after him again, catching him around the head with his next swing and knocking him dizzy. All the use left his limbs and he dropped flat on the floor, the back of his head smacking down on the cold floor.

He was vaguely aware of Ashnael standing over him, saying something, but the sound was muffled as if he were listening through water, images and noise out of sync. Ashnael traced the tip of his baton down Sheppard's cheek, his neck, his chest on further downward, Sheppard only just aware of the pressure working its way down the length of his body. Ashnael's voice began to filter through, telling him some things he intended to do to him that turned his stomach and made him glad he'd missed some of it in the confusion. He'd always considered himself worldly wise; he was going to have to revisit that theory.

'So, John,' the man said, kneeling beside him and resting a hand on his heaving chest. 'Are you ready to admit I'm the better fighter?'

'Nope...I'm not there yet,' Sheppard quipped, although he wasn't sure his body agreed.

His blood ran cold as he felt Ashnael's hand work a little lower, his fingers hitching up the bottom of his vest and finding one of those old injuries again, digging in and clawing at the freshly opened up tissue he'd aggravated earlier. That snapped Sheppard back to the real world with a breath-stealing cry. 'You know, I rather like the way you squirm, John,' Ashnael taunted as Sheppard caught hold of his wrist with limbs still reluctant to fully coordinate, and tried to force his fingers out of his wound. 'I think you might be quite the most captivating slave I've ever owned. I see many hours of sparring in our future...many, many hours.'

He had a pretty good idea that "sparring" meant much the same thing to Ashnael as being "nice" meant in Magistra Callaedin's vocabulary. Sheppard was still struggling with the salivating, leering bastard's hand when, he heard Dezrin speak up. 'Mercator...please...I thought I was your special servant.'

Sheppard's eyes flashed to Ashnael's, seeing annoyance flare that the boy had dared to interrupt him. 'Don't be so pathetic Dezrin. Things change.'

The boy placed his hand on the man's shoulder. 'But what will become of me?'

Ashnael shucked him off, growing impatient. 'Maybe I'll sell you...I certainly will if you don't stop this ridiculous whining!'

'No please! I'm afraid to go to someone else...what if...?'

Ashnael rose and backhanded him, sending him crashing into the wall. 'Enough, Dezrin. I have other things on my mi –'

It was with a huge amount of satisfaction that Sheppard used that moment to wrap Ashnael's discarded baton around the back of his head, and even more satisfying was the crunch as his nose hit the floor and sent blood splattering in all directions.

'And your weakness is that you think you're so much smarter than everyone else!' he shouted, jabbing the end of the baton into the man's back. Ashnael grumbled, but barely stirred.

Though he didn't like the idea of touching the guy, Sheppard quickly relieved him of his belt and tied his arms tight behind his back, obsessively tight he realised as he was doing it, but he did not want those wandering hands getting free again while he was in the room. Then he snatched Ashnael's cuff control and fumbled through what few concealed pockets the man had in his outfit to find the key card for the locker. His stomach lurched as the man groaned at his touch, but he forced himself to continue to grope around his person for anything that felt the right size and shape.

When he eventually found it, he ran to the locker and opened it up, pulling out Ronon's gun and striding back toward the guy, prepared right there and then to make sure he never hurt anyone again.

Dezrin grabbed his arm, forcing the gun down. 'Please...don't.'

Sheppard looked at him in disbelief, then tried to level his weapon again, wiping a mixture of blood and sweat from his eyes as he took aim again. 'Someone has to do this. If I don't, he'll be free to do this to some other unsuspecting slave or off-worlder.'

'There has been enough death in this house already. Neither I nor any of the other slaves wish him dead; we just want him to stop hurting us,' the boy explained, pushing his arm down again.

Steadying his heaving breaths and momentarily forcing down his own desire for revenge, Sheppard tried to comprehend how someone such as Dezrin could not want to wipe the disgusting little creep out himself. But the boy's desire to spare the man was beyond him, and he twitched the gun higher again, determined to see it through.

'Please, John. Be the better man,' Dezrin pleaded again, this time using words alone to get through to him.

As he looked into the boy's eyes, Sheppard felt his anger dissipate, replaced by empathy and a strong desire not to bring any more regret into Dezrin's life. If he killed Ashnael, the boy would always feel in some way culpable, and that wasn't what he wanted for him. He already had enough issues to carry with him without adding that to them.

Relenting, Sheppard flicked the magnum to stun mode and sent a jolt of red energy through Dezrin's owner, making sure he stayed out while they made good their escape. 'He's still breathing. Happy?' he asked, pissed at himself for sounding so petulant.

Dezrin nodded. 'Where will you go now?'

'I need to get to the Tranaedan house. Ronon's still there and I don't want to leave him in the magistra's clutches a moment longer than I have to.

'I can help you find the key card to Ashnael's ship...if you take me with you.'

The last thing Sheppard needed was someone else to protect right now, but he figured the kid would be in for that "punishment" Ashnael kept talking about if he left him there. 'Okay...but you stay in the craft, okay?'

Dezrin nodded, something close to a smile playing on his lips. 'Okay.'

Sheppard was about to follow him out of the door, but that need for revenge pulled him back again. He just couldn't leave Ashnael the way he was. He had to do something to protect the kids he was leaving behind there.

'You wait in the corridor. I'm just gonna make sure Ashnael isn't in the mood for "sparring" with anyone else in this household for a while.' Dezrin was about to speak when Sheppard held up a finger to silence him. 'I'm not gonna kill him...I promise.'

Swallowing hard, Dezrin nodded and turned his back as Sheppard picked up the baton he'd tossed aside and approached the unconscious creep, bringing it down on Ashnael's arms in a series of sickening crunches. Each blow released a little of the pent up revulsion he'd been controlling, not just at Ashnael's acts, but those of Magistra Tranaedan and her equally disgusting counterpart, Magistra Callaedin. Then he kicked, kicking him in the sides and the back, and then, booting him over onto his back, he stamped hard on his crotch, ensuring that bastard wouldn't be in the mood for any of his usual sordid acts, just like the magister had done to him to curb his wife's ambitions.

Finally realising he'd done enough he stopped, barely able to get his breath. The baton fell from his hand and he dropped to his knees, adrenaline spent and exhaustion and pain setting in. His arm, still badly cut beneath the bandages, throbbed to the point he thought he might pass out, as did the freshly gouged lacerations on his stomach, but he knew there wasn't time to give way to his body's need for rest. Ronon needed him. He had to keep going for his sake.

He started when he felt hands grabbing his upper arm, but thankfully it was only Dezrin, there to help him back to his feet. The boy looked down on his badly battered owner with eyes completely devoid of emotion, then he tugged at Sheppard, raising him back to his feet.

'Come, John. We must leave now.'

Nodding, he allowed Dezrin to support him to the door, but from there he insisted he could make it alone. He glanced back at Ashnael's bloodied body, lying oblivious to his injuries for now. He didn't feel sorry for what he'd done to him, not for a second. Sheppard's only regret was that the bastard hadn't been awake to feel what he'd done to him...and that neither of them would be there to hear Ashnael's screams when he eventually did come to his senses.


	35. Chapter 35

**A/N: So you all enjoyed seeing Ashnael get what was coming to him? But where will it all go from there? :)**

* * *

**Chapter 35 **

Outside the city of Traginta Duo, the four remaining jumpers all converged on the same spot out in the lands between, maintaining a steady height above the ground to ensure they didn't attract the purraets burrowing out there.

Rodney listened as Elizabeth's voice came through over the jumper's communication system. _'All right, people. We have three of our four missing team members back with us, but we are still missing one. Colonel Sheppard is believed to have escaped the city aboard a vessel in the early hours of this morning, but according to this planet's records, no craft have passed through the 'gate since he went missing. We need to begin a search of the land between here and the Stargate, covering the area as quickly and as thoroughly as possible. Major Lorne has divided the area into four equal areas and is transferring the data to each of you now.'_

Harding fired up their HUD, studying the area mapped out for their vessel to search. They'd already covered some of it in their trip to Traginta Duo, and the rest of it, some areas far outside the direct route, just seemed like a complete waste of time to Rodney. If Sheppard was out there, they had to find him fast, not mess about looking in places they were unlikely to find him.

'Elizabeth, this is a waste of time. We've already covered most of this area and he wasn't there,' he called to her from the back of the jumper.

'_I understand that, Rodney. But based on the information we have available on his last known movements, information you and Teyla gave us, this is the most likely place we'll find him. So we're going to do this as thoroughly as possible, and if we don't find him, then we'll rethink our strategy.'_

Rodney slumped back in his seat, folding his arms and silently fuming, his blood pressure rocketing. He knew he wasn't really angry with Elizabeth or the decision she'd made, it was the most logical thing for them to do, but he felt so certain they wouldn't find him he was furious at himself for not coming up with a better idea.

Teyla reached over and grasped his hand, squeezing it gently as she gave him a supportive smile. 'I understand your worries, Rodney. But this is the best we can do for the moment.'

Beside him, Jasheran cleared his throat. Rodney looked his way and snapped, 'What?'

'I'm sorry to interrupt, but is it possible that Colonel Sheppard was aboard the craft bringing the iron through for trade with my planet since it, too, is missing?'

Rodney rolled his eyes. 'I'm sorry, I don't know quite how to break this to you, but your missing iron is the least of our concerns right now.'

Teyla was quick to jump in, her expression offering an apology for Rodney's brashness, much to his annoyance.

'This ship will have left Traginta Duo this morning?' she asked, holding up a hand to silence Rodney when he tried to butt in again.

'Yes. The iron is refined into the form we need at a manufactory in that city...at least that is my understanding. I have never been there myself. The peoples of Haraendon always travel to us because they believe the industrial environment in their city enclosures would be disagreeable to us.'

'Or because they don't want you to find out how that iron gets made,' Rodney muttered.

Jasheran's face dropped. 'What do you mean?'

'The planet employs slave labour. That iron is mined up by people who probably get little food and little sleep, and are most likely beaten if they don't dig up enough ore in any one day. There might even be kids down there for all we know.'

Jasheran shook his head as he listened, apparently having trouble taking in what he was hearing. 'But...but when we discussed trade many decades ago, my people were assured the practices used here were fair and safe. We always make it clear that we expect those trading with us to adhere to certain standards.'

'Well, apparently you weren't careful enough with these guys,' Rodney snorted, and again, he earned a disparaging glance from Teyla.

'It is an admirable aspiration, but it appears your people may not have been as thorough with their checks as you would have liked. Dr McKay has been living in Traginta Duo for the past few days and has seen many examples of slavery. It is rife within the Centum Civis.'

Jasheran looked shattered, his whole body sagging under the weight of the news. 'I'm sure our village leaders would have visited to complete the trade agreement. It is our practice to do so.'

Teyla nodded, her face grave. 'We do not doubt the sincerity of your people, Jasheran, but the peoples of the Centum Civis are very different from you. It is quite possible they took your predecessors to a...sanitised version of their mining and refining programmes. They may even have persuaded the workers to lie about their conditions for fear they would be punished if they did not. Greed can breed unspeakable cruelty, cruelty it is hard for people like us to comprehend.'

He nodded, clearly contemplating her words. Then he lifted his head, jaw resolutely set. 'You're right, Dr McKay, our trade with this planet is no longer the main matter for our concern. But perhaps we can use the information to help you find Colonel Sheppard. If the craft was the only one to leave Traginta Duo for the Circle of the Ancestors this morning, there should be a record of what transporter was being used for moving the iron. That might help you track it and find him.'

Rodney sat forward, wagging a finger. 'He may have a point!' He opened a channel to Elizabeth. 'Elizabeth, we think we might know what craft Sheppard left on. We need the First Minister to get records of all vehicles leaving Traginta Duo this morning destined for the Stargate. Jasheran thinks Sheppard may have been aboard the iron shipment his people were expecting. If we can narrow it down to one craft, we might be able to track it.'

'_Thanks, Rodney. We're on it,'_ he heard her reply, and now a little of the tension that had been knotting his stomach dissipated. This was a more solid lead, their plan now more structured than just scanning a large area and hoping to stumble across him.

But when he looked at Teyla, she was gazing at the floor of the jumper, her brow furrowed with worry. She clearly didn't share his hope that they were about to track down the elusive colonel, because her afflicted friends still couldn't sense him, describing him as "shrouded in darkness", or some such mumbo jumbo. He hoped they could prove them all wrong.

oooOOOooo

Sheppard wove Ashnael's craft down the streets of Traginta Duo at what would, anywhere else, be considered breakneck speeds, but here seemed to blend in with the general chaos. Beside him, Dezrin gripped his seat, no doubt concerned because he was unused to travelling with an off-worlder, and perhaps wondering if Sheppard was in the right frame of mind for flying at such speeds.

Eventually, Sheppard took the craft down a narrow road that led behind the rear of the Tranaedan property, setting it down and staring at the substantial wall enclosing this aspect of the building. As it was still daylight, there was no way he could scale the front gates, especially since the road on that side of the house was so busy. This one, though, was quiet. As they sat there for a while, Sheppard taking the opportunity to calm himself and recharge his batteries, not one single craft passed them by.

He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths, wishing he'd mastered that whole meditation thing Teyla did before they went on potentially difficult missions. He'd never managed to "find his centre", or "release his burden", and today he was feeling more burdened than usual. He hadn't let himself think about it until now, but there was a chance Ronon had been hurt or killed last night. If he had, he knew that was one burden he'd never release.

'John.' Dezrin's light touch on his arm made him jump, his action making the young man draw back as if he feared retaliation. If his encounter with Ashnael had left him this skittish, he hated to think how bad the boy must feel, so he gave him a reassuring smile to ease the tension.

'Sorry, you startled me.'

'Are you sure you can climb into this property? That wall is very high.'

John peered out of the windshield and studied the structure, spotting numerous possible hand and foot holds in its surface. 'Well, I don't really have a choice. I get that the gates and walls are there more for boundary reasons than security, but if I take a craft over them, it's gonna increase my chances of being spotted. And I'm already running at a disadvantage here.'

Dezrin frowned. 'What do you mean?'

'I mean Magistra Tranaedan has a few talents that make her more likely to know I'm here than I'd like.'

The young man still looked baffled, and deciding he really didn't have time to discuss it any further, Sheppard jumped out of his seat and told him to stay put until he saw the jumper leave. They'd already discussed his plan, and Dezrin knew to follow him to safer grounds where he could get aboard the jumper and they could ferry him to safety. The boy, though not an experienced pilot, apparently knew enough to move the ship, and Sheppard intended to get him on board as soon as he felt they could stop without being ambushed. Hopefully that meant his limited skills would be enough.

Climbing was something Sheppard was good at. He'd done plenty of it as one of those hobbies he'd developed to satisfied the adrenalin junkie within him. So a twenty-foot wall on a good day would be absolutely no obstacle to him. Today...today it looked almost insurmountable. Taking another deep breath and chastising himself for being so negative, Sheppard reached up to the first available hold for his right hand, feeling the strain in his damaged forearm and stomach the instant he did it. Nausea welled in his throat, but he forced it down. He needed to get inside the building, and he had a lot more climbing ahead of him to do that. He couldn't afford to acknowledge any pain. It would slow him down and split his focus. So he completed the action, slotting his fingers into a gap between the metal panels making up the erection. Gradually, inch by inch, he scaled the wall, finding and maintaining holds that other, less skilled climbers would have missed. Not that he didn't slip – he did, twice – and he could have merrily screamed out as the weight of his unsupported legs dragged down on the injuries to his upper body, but instead he looked at the top of the wall, seeing it getting closer, and allowing his desire to reach it be his overriding emotion. Eventually, he did just that, all without anyone passing by. Then, knowing he had to descend as quickly as possible, he lowered himself as much as he could and then dropped to the ground, feeling the jolt through his entire body, but driving himself on regardless.

Once over that first obstacle, he had to dig deep to climb the wall of the single storey extension at the side of the house to reach the air duct he'd departed by. It was lower than the wall and so should have been easier, but, already tired out by the first climb, what should have been simple left him drained. Once up on the roof, he took a moment to look up at the sky, somehow, more than ever, a symbol of freedom despite its restrictions, then he lifted the grill and slid inside, back in the Tranaedan household once more.

Inside that metal ducting, his breathing sounded worryingly loud, but he figured that was most likely his paranoia kicking in rather than it being as thunderous as he feared. He slithered along on his stomach, feeling the uncomfortable yet simultaneously comforting pressure of Ashnael's cuff control digging into his thigh in his pocket where he'd hidden it, whimpering quietly as tiny explosions of pain fired off in his stomach. He'd thought this journey had been a difficult one on the way out. On the way in, it was a hundred times harder. Eventually, he could bear the claustrophobia and discomfort no longer, so dropped out of the ceiling at the first loose grill he could find and scurried his way to the servants' staircase, where he hoped he could hide for a few moments without being discovered by the Tranaedans.

He sat down on the cold stone steps to regain his breath and let the pain subside. He had to find Ronon, and he had an awful feeling he was likely to be hanging around with the magister, and so hard to get to without alerting his one-time owner to his presence. His only other option was to take the jumper without his friend and come back with reinforcements as fast as he could. That wasn't his favourite idea, but he might have to resort to it through necessity. He resolved to head up to the Tranaedans' rooms and try to locate a ramp controller. Hopefully, either on the way up there, or on the way back down, he would stumble across some clue as to where his friend could be.

He mounted the stairs as quickly as he could until he reached the right floor, poking his head out into the corridor and listening. The noises that met his ears left him in no doubt as to where Ronon was.

'Do you have any idea how much that slave cost me?' he heard Tranaedan bellow. 'Ten thousand tallots. I barely even owned him for a day before some off-world woman comes sweeping in here snatching him out from under my nose. Do you have any idea how stupid that made me look?'

The voice that replied was quieter, but undeniably the magistra's. 'Of course I do. I was there when it happened.'

Elizabeth? She'd been here?

The sharp crack of flesh on flesh made him wince, and the magistra cried out. Her husband had apparently reached the end of his tether. So Tranaedan's love affair with the magistra was over. He wished he could feel sympathetic about that, but he couldn't feel anything for either of them. They deserved whatever they got, be that broken hearts or broken bones.

He slipped along the corridor, his grimy, blood-stained clothes and hands leaving marks where he occasionally supported himself on the wall. He hoped the Tranaedans would be so wrapped up in their own turmoil they wouldn't notice a few dirty marks on their pristine paintwork...that or if he was lucky Raelzine or Lanae would come along and wipe them away before they could be seen.

When he got closer to the magistra's room it became clear the noise wasn't coming from there, but from the magister's room further down the corridor. With that realisation, he took the opportunity to slip into her room and seek out that all important control.

The first area was empty, as was the bedroom beyond. He hurried across the room, casting his eyes across the bed and the dressing table and spotting the magistra's purse sitting beside her various bottles of perfume and other makeup. Surely it couldn't be that easy? He darted over to it, wrenching it open and finding the control sitting within it along with the magistra's key card that would give him access to the hangar. He still had his own in his back pocket, but it had taken a battering, so he decided to take hers to be sure he could get to the jumper. Maybe she'd been planning a trip or maybe she just didn't think any of her other slaves had the courage to take it. Whatever the reason, he meant to make the most of the opportunity it offered him, especially now he knew Ronon was already in safe hands.

He slipped quietly back out into the corridor, and then descended the staircase down to the hangar level as quickly as his shaky legs would convey him. He felt decidedly unsteady now, but knew his ordeal would be over soon – a few minutes to fire up the jumper and open the ramp, and he'd be heading for the 'gate and the Alpha site.

He exited the stairs and was about to head to the hangar doors when he heard movement and drew back sharply, peering out into the corridor to see Vandaer heading into the hangar. That was something he could really have done without, but, with Ronon's gun tucked into the back of his belt, he knew it wasn't a problem he couldn't overcome. So, desperate not to waste any more time, he headed to the hangar and opened up the door.

Vandaer came out of the craft he was cleaning immediately, obviously expecting to find one of his owners standing there. So he'd drawn the short straw on the cleaning duties. His face when he saw Sheppard was an absolute picture.

'Jadrael! Why...why would you come back here?'

'Because I need that ship to get out of here,' he replied, dipping his head toward the jumper.

'But it doesn't work,' the man said, looking toward it. 'You know that.'

'It works for me.'

Vandaer looked at it again, then back at Sheppard. 'Even if you're right, I can't let you take it. It's the pride of the magister's collection.'

Though he really had hoped to persuade the man to let him go peacefully, one slave to another, he suspected he wouldn't be able to. He pulled Ronon's gun and set it to stun. 'I don't need your permission to take it, Vandaer. So just step aside, because, trust me, this thing hurts.'

Vandaer's eyes darted to the weapon, then back up to meet Sheppard's gaze. 'I cannot...the magister will –'

Sheppard shot him, watching him contract and then fall limp as the energy knocked him out. 'Sorry, buddy. But I really don't have time to discuss it,' he muttered, running past him and into the dormant jumper.

The ship came to life around him as he entered, lights illuminating the welcome sight of Lantean tech, and the mental connection immediately firing up within him. Depositing himself in the pilot seat, he ran through a quick check of systems to ensure nothing else vital had died in his absence. To his relief he found he still had engines and weapons, even though the systems for the cloak and shield were still disabled. Not that he was worried; with the control to the ramp and an armed jumper, he was getting out of this city whether he was visible or not.

A sound behind him made him start. He spun his seat round, aiming Ronon's gun out in front of him. He was alone, but he didn't feel alone. Aware it could just be a severe case of paranoia, Sheppard returned his attention to the navigational controls, calling up the HUD to get an overall picture of what he had at his disposal and scanning what he was up against outside. Another noise, something like a muffled cry made him spin round again, and this time the cause of the noise was there for him to see.

The magistra now stood on the open rear hatch holding Ishraela in front of her, bound and gagged. She held a gun to the child's head, and the poor little girl looked absolutely petrified.

'I had a feeling I would be seeing you soon when I caught this whelp sneaking around my house earlier,' she said. 'And I'm sure you don't want to fire that thing...I'd hate to accidentally kill the darling little child.'

This couldn't be happening. He wouldn't let this opportunity slip through his fingers. But the magistra would kill Ishraela without batting an eyelid, he knew that, so he set the gun down on the floor without argument and feigned compliance. As he got up out of his seat, he surreptitiously slipped the cuff control he'd stolen from Ashnael out of his pocket and concealed it in his hand, preparing for trouble.

'Good boy,' she smirk, pushing the child aside so she fell onto one of the rear seats and striding forward to claim the weapon. 'What a wonderful gun. It looks terribly powerful.'

She waved it around in his face as she examined it, making him flinch and duck for fear she might set it off. His discomfort clearly amused her, but she didn't plague him for long.

'It's most fortuitous that you're here, John, although not entirely down to chance,' she told him, letting her eyes wander over his filthy form with a vague flicker of disgust. 'I had hoped Ashnael would at least clean you up before you escaped. He's usually so fastidious. Still, as you've probably realised, the magister and I are not getting along too well, and I earlier struck a deal with some friends of mine to allow me to hide out in their house. You're going to fly me there, even if you do look like something a purraet coughed out.'

'Get real,' he growled. 'I'm not flying you anywhere.'

'No?' Without looking at Ishraela, she levelled Ronon's gun at her, switching it to kill mode as easily as if the gun was hers. He felt guilty, realising she'd probably plucked the information of how to do that from his head while he'd been standing there worrying about the way she was handling it. 'How about now?'

He clenched his jaw, then nodded. 'Okay, fine. I'll take you wherever you're going, then I'm out of here.' She laughed, and he fought back the urge to slap her himself. 'What's so funny?'

'You're not going anywhere, John. You're part of the deal I struck. I told the Callaedins you'd been recaptured and they agreed to give me refuge from Garzin as long as I bring you along with me.'

She was using him as payment for her ticket out of here now? Okay, that he could definitely slap her for, but when he launched for her, she fired up his cuffs so he slammed into the metal hull behind him.

'Now, now, John,' she purred, approaching him. 'You need to remember your place again. That taste of freedom seems to have gone to your head. You belong to me, and you are going to buy my way out of here.'

'I am not going to the Callaedins with you. Think about it...they don't care about you. They'll kill you as soon as you step through their doors. If you want to get away from your husband, I'll take you with me.' He really didn't want to do that, but neither did he want to waste any more time talking about it. If she accepted his offer, they could work out the details of her transfer to life on Atlantis another time, preferably a life that would start in the brig.

'Do you imagine I couldn't have the Callaedins wrapped around my little finger within moments of getting there?' she asked, apparently mildly offended that he thought they posed a danger to her.

'You might think you can persuade them they want you there, but if they really don't feel that way, they'll get rid of you eventually. The sensory told me your kind can't manipulate people to do things that are completely against their nature, and you can't maintain your influence for long.'

'The sensory was a sick man...pitifully weak. You dare to compare me to that?' She caught hold of his face then, squeezing hard so her nails dug into his flesh. 'Besides, I only need to influence them long enough to get rid of them, then their home and everything in it is mine. Now do as I ask or the child dies.'

The punch he threw at her was clearly completely unexpected, and he supposed that was really no surprise. It hadn't been planned, it had been a gut reaction, his thumb pressing on the cuff control and deactivating his restraint just as he formed the blow, the whole thing playing out in one fluid motion.

She crumpled to the floor in front of him, clutching her eye where he'd struck her, and when she looked up at him, the impact with his fist had caused one of her contacts to split. A sliver of scarlet eye peered out at him in utter shock; she didn't even seem able to speak.

The moment past, he realised she'd dropped Ronon's gun, and it had skittered across the jumper to the rear ramp. There was a second where they both had the same idea, both deciding to leap for the gun, and then the scramble was on, Sheppard somehow finding the strength to knock the magistra aside and claim the weapon himself. He levelled it at her, getting cautiously back to his feet while keeping her in his sights as he flicked the gun back to stun.

She remained on the floor, holding very still. Maybe she could read something in him this time that told her he wasn't going to take any more of her supposed superiority.

Or maybe not.

Something struck him in the back and Sheppard sank to his knees, feeling the gun snatched from his grip. Whoever had done that certainly knew how to disable a guy, leaving him panting as he fell forward onto his hands, gasping.

'You dare to come back here and bring that afflicted scum chil...'

Magister Tranaedan's voice tailed off, and Sheppard ventured a peek over his shoulder to see what he was doing. 'My ship!'

'Actually, it's my ship,' Sheppard corrected, regretting it somewhat when Tranaedan stamped on his back and flattened him. The magistra crawled forward and snatched his cuff control from him, activating it so he was pinned face-down where he lay.

'You can fly this?' the magister demanded.

'Not for you,' Sheppard told him, gritting his teeth when the magister ground his foot down on him even harder.

'He was trying to kidnap me!' he heard the magistra lie, and he was about to call her on it when he felt the pressure on his back lift and the magister thundered toward his wife, snatching her up from the jumper floor and grasping her arms so tightly she cried out.

'Your eye...what...happened?'

Apparently the magistra had been unaware of the damage to her contact, looking at first baffled, then terrified. 'I...I can explain...It's just an abnormality...'

'You're one of them...one of the afflicted!' he gasped, pushing her away from him so she tripped on her dress and fell down again.

'No...no, I'm not...It's a fault in the pigmentation of my eyes. Look at me Garzin...do I look like one of them?'

'She changes the way she looks,' Sheppard wheezed, '...lightens her skin...dyes her hair. This isn't the real her. Think about it!'

The magister stared down at him, while his wife continued to make her excuses in the background.

'He's lying, Garzin. He's a slave and he's in trouble ...he's trying to distract you from his crimes.'

'No...no...he's right...this explains so much,' the man stammered, real pain etched onto his face as he made that realisation. 'You're too clever...too cunning...always one step ahead of everyone. This explains so much.'

'No, Garzin...you're wrong.'

'Yes, that's how you've made me feel for so long now,' he said sadly, stroking her face, 'but I suspect I know what would happen if I stopped you buying all those beauty treatments. I loved you, Alathael, with all my heart, doing unspeakable things all because of my love of you, and all this time you have been hiding the truth of yourself from me. Well, no more.'

His hand slipped to her throat, as did his other when he dropped Ronon's gun, and then he squeezed, the magistra's eyes bulging as she struggled to free herself from his crushing grasp. Sheppard watched on in silent horror as the man choked the life from her, the magistra clawing at his arms and drawing blood in her desperate efforts to survive. He thought about speaking up, but something stopped him. This woman had caused the death and suffering of others without any compunction...perhaps her death now was the best outcome for everyone.

And then she was gone. Sheppard saw her eyes glaze in that way he'd witnessed too many times in his life already and Tranaedan let go of her, letting her crumple to the floor in a lifeless heap. Her gaze seemed to be fixed on him, and Sheppard hoped that at some level she still existed, just as the sensory did, so she could see what had happened here and realise just what she'd lost.

The magister straightened up and took a deep breath. 'What is your real name?' he asked without looking at him.

'I'm Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard of the United States Air Force,' Sheppard replied, watching him. His body language bristled with pent up aggression.

The man nodded, his back still to him, wiping his hands on his shirt as if he'd sullied them. 'That sounds like a military title.'

'It is.'

'Air Force? So that is why you fly so well?'

'Yeah...I've had a lot of practice.'

Tranaedan nodded, then at last turned around to look down on him. 'Is that child my wife's?' he asked, dipping his head to where Sheppard could see Ishraela still lying bound on a seat beside him.

'No. She's just a kid who got caught where she shouldn't be. Let her go.'

'Perhaps I will...but she has broken into my property. That's a serious crime.'

'Fine...and so did I. If you're feeling mean and you want to punish someone, punish me,' Sheppard challenged, trying to protect her. He could see the child's huge, frightened eyes above the gag the magistra had forced into her mouth, but as Ishraela looked at him, he could tell she was asking him not to put himself on the line for her. He felt it instinctively, just like his connection to the sensory.

'You didn't break into my house, John Sheppard,' Tranaedan told him, his eyes cold as he focused on him now. 'I haven't seen you since you escaped last night.' He got down on one knee to address him, scooping up Ronon's gun as Sheppard realised things were about to turn nasty. 'You have brought this ship to life for me, so this is clearly where you belong. I have no intention of letting you escape from me again...I need someone to move this ship.'

Then he struck Sheppard hard on the temple with the butt of the pistol, and the lights went out in an instant.


	36. Chapter 36

**A/N: Thanks once again to all those of you taking the time to comment. I know I always reply with my thanks directly, but this is the only place I can say it to those who don't have accounts, so I like to add it here. Feedback makes this whole process even more worthwhile, although I confess I love to write anyway! :) **

* * *

**Chapter 36 **

An agonising pulse of pain throbbing through both his right forearm and his torso brought Sheppard back to consciousness. His hands were numb, he couldn't feel his fingers when he tried to flex them, and his wrists hurt so badly he wondered if someone had cut off both his hands. He forced his leaden lids to open, spotting the crane hook dangling above his head, and his cuffs attached to it, suspending him above the ground. The metal was digging into his swollen wrists, slicing his skin, and his hands had turned purple, suggesting he'd been hanging there for a while.

He was cold and...wet? He looked down at his body, finding he'd been completely stripped to the waist and water was running down his chest in numerous rivulets. A blast of freezing cold water slammed into his back, and set him spinning, his eyes falling briefly on a figure in the room along with him. Was that Rabbrine? A second turn gave him a long enough look to realise he was right.

The physician blasted him with another jet of water, then climbed on a set of steps and began scrubbing him down with something that smelled antiseptic and foamed up on contact with the water on his body. When he cried out at the rough contact, he got little sympathy from his diminutive torturer.

'Stop your whining, man. It's just a few cuts. Look at me – I have a black eye thanks to you...and I'm considerably poorer than I planned to be today. You have to go and escape just when Gullaen and his men came looking for you. He thought I'd set him up for arrest. I was lucky to escape with just this.'

'Oh, poor you,' Sheppard grunted, glaring down at him. The man scrubbed over the gouged wounds on his stomach with his coarse cleaning cloth, making him throw his head back with a hiss through his clenched teeth while he fought back a torrent of abuse.

'Why you thought you could come back here I'll never know...faeces for brains, if you ask me.'

'I didn't ask,' Sheppard pointed out, his moment of rebellion instantly ended by a particularly thorough scrub across the buckle welts on his back.

'I told them you were trouble, but did they listen...no.'

'What...the hell...are you...doing?' Sheppard eventually managed to squeeze out between pain-riding gasps and teeth grinding.

'Preparing you for surgery,' Rabbrine barked. 'I don't think I've ever seen a man so filthy in my life.'

'Surgery? What surgery? I don't need surgery!' Sheppard assured him as he span around and Rabbrine scrubbed at his damaged back again. He clamped his eyes and jaws shut and rode out the pain, ignoring the pressure of the unwanted and sometimes intimate scrubbing on his battered body.

'Well, you might not consider it necessary, but considering the role Magister Tranaedan has in mind for you, I can assure you it's most vital.'

That didn't sound good. 'What role?'

Rabbrine blinked at him, pushing his spectacles up his nose, as they refocused on his face. 'A permanent pilot. You're to be assimilated into that new ship of his.'

Images of Faraenal assaulted him, thoughts of how the man's suffering was now about to become his own. He panicked, kicking out with his bound feet and sending the physician spilling from his steps and thudding onto the floor beneath his feet.

The doctor wailed, a sound that brought other people running. Tranaedan and Vandaer appeared, the former guiding in a table from one of the medical rooms, the latter pushing in the machine Sheppard had deactivated for the sensory on a hovering platform.

'No!' Sheppard breathed, the sight of those things making him struggle more furiously in the hope that gravity would somehow help him work his way free.

'Quit your complaining, Rabbrine. You only fell a short way. Is he ready?' Tranaedan demanded, taking no nonsense from the man still sprawled on the floor.

Rabbrine stumbled to his feet, straightening his glasses. 'Not really...he's still covered in filth and already in poor health. He needs a good bath and two weeks of recovery –'

'Not possible. I need this done now. Do whatever you have to do to bolster him and make sure he survives.'

'With a patient in this condition there can be no guarantees –'

Tranaedan grabbed the front of Rabbrine's shirt. 'Just do as I ask.'

Rabbrine straightened out the steps and remounted them to continue the preparations while Sheppard watched in morbid fascination as Vandaer wheeled the machine on board the jumper.

'Do you have everything else clean and ready for the procedure?' Rabbrine asked as he resumed his heavy handed bathing.

'Yes. The machine has been completely cleaned down and serviced in preparation for a new sensory it appears I am to be denied. All you have to do is make it so I can attach that man to it.' He picked up a container sitting on top of the bed and opened it, rattling the connectors it contained. 'They're all here; you just need to get them into him.'

Sheppard freaked out again, tugging hard on his cuffs, driving the metal deeper into his skin in his desperation to be free. Blood ran the length of his arms, mingling with the stinging antiseptic wash and turning the foam and water pink as it dripped from his body onto the floor.

'Surely you're not worried, John Sheppard? You're a pilot...you love to fly. Now you will do nothing but,' Tranaedan sneered glaring up at him, not an ounce of sympathy in his manner.

'Where's the girl?' Sheppard asked, suddenly remembering his little friend and worried that if Tranaedan was prepared to do this to him, he might have hurt Ishraela, too.

'I think you have other things to concern yourself with right now,' Tranaedan told him. 'The child should be the least of your worries.'

'I need someone to help me get the rest of these stinking clothes off him,' Rabbrine grunted as he worked, and Tranaedan ordered Vandaer to help restrain Sheppard while the doctor did that. The slave wrapped an arm around Sheppard's calves while the doctor cut his belt and ankle restraints and relieved him of the rest of his clothing. His trousers were now plastered to him with a mixture of blood, grime and water, so were reluctant to part company with his damp skin. Though normally being stripped naked would have been reason enough to panic, now it paled into insignificance in comparison to the thought of what was to come. He barely even noticed the rest of the intrusive cleaning process as his lower half was washed clean of the blood and dirt he'd acquired during his supposed escape.

'I believe he's clean enough to proceed,' Rabbrine announced, and now Sheppard suddenly missed the gruff treatment.

'I dunno! I don't feel all that clean, yet,' he suggested, hoping to stall him. 'Like you said, the odds are already against me. Why take the chance you missed a spot?'

A blast of cold water hit him again, taking his breath away as it practically scoured the top layer off his skin. The pain was incredible, and though it wasn't in his nature to give up, knowing what lay ahead, Sheppard prayed to anyone that might be listening to let the infection in his injuries take him, right here, right now.

'_Stay strong, John. The end is in sight.'_

The sensory's voice echoed somewhere in the distant recesses of his mind. He dropped his head against his quivering arms. 'This is not ending well...this is not ending well...' he whispered over and over to himself, repeating the sensory's promise to him.

'What's he saying?' Tranaedan asked from below him.

'Who knows? I told you he has an infection. The man's probably raving. Anyway, we need him down now, so I'll give him a mild sedative to make him more amenable while I operate.'

Mild? Sheppard didn't want a mild sedative, he wanted the real deal. He wanted Rabbrine to knock him out, and when he woke up as a lobotomised autopilot he hopefully wouldn't understand what pain really was any more...although, having seen Faraenal's reaction to being roused, he seemed to be frighteningly aware of his agonising condition. He watched Rabbrine rummaging through his medical bag, panic rising as the frightening realisation that he had absolutely no way out of this hit him.

'You know, the sensory told me you wouldn't take my wife from me, but you did,' he heard Tranaedan call up to him.

With nothing to lose, Sheppard's belligerence rose to the surface, and he fired back. 'And how do you figure that?'

'If you hadn't come back here and fought with her, I would never have known the truth...'

'And you could have gone on living a lie,' Sheppard spat at him. 'I didn't stop you doing that. You could have turned a blind eye to what you'd seen and carried on fighting with each other if that made you happy.'

'But I couldn't ignore what she was!' he bellowed, tears in his eyes. 'That was one thing I could never forgive her for.'

'Because she was a different colour? Because she could do things you couldn't? It's attitudes like yours that forced her to disguise herself in the first place. You brought this on yourself.'

Tranaedan swung a punch up into his stomach, making him wheeze out all the breath remaining in his lungs. Apparently, the magister didn't take criticism well. No surprises there.

Rabbrine had finished what he was doing, and now climbed the steps with a loaded syringe, ready to inject him and make him more malleable.

Sheppard suddenly felt his brain become spongy, a frighteningly familiar sensation. He hoped he was wrong and he was about to pass out instead, but no, he could feel it, the prodding and poking around in his head. So who was in there? Was it the sensory or did he have a new lodger?

His mouth opened, and without consciously forming any words they began spilling out. 'If his blood is on your hands, you will surely die.' What he said awoke a vague sense of déjà vu within him, as if he'd spoken them before. But it wasn't him...it was the sensory, interceding to try to save him.

Rabbrine drew his hand back, looking puzzled, and beneath Sheppard the colour drained from Tranaedan's face. Those words clearly resonated with him; he'd also heard them before.

'You...you're dead,' he breathed, gazing up at Sheppard with eyes filled with fear.

Sheppard wasn't sure whether he was talking to the sensory now, or threatening him. The fear and confusion suggested the former, but he couldn't be sure. So would the sensory's threat be enough to stay his hand?

His hopes of Tranaedan's repentance were dashed when he watched the magister's expression shift from that mixture of fearful confusion to something that looked to him like complete desolation. Something had left the man, and now a deep, dark, choking emptiness was engulfing him in front of his eyes.

'Should I continue?' Rabbrine asked. Apparently, even the seemingly sadistic physician could sense the import of their exchange and wondered what to do.

Sheppard held the magister's gaze, hoping to see some kind of pity or even shame surface there, but there was nothing. The magister was a broken man, the death of his wife too much for him to cope with. Nothing mattered to him anymore, certainly not the torture of a virtual stranger.

'Yes,' he replied, his voice flat and completely devoid of any level of emotion.

He walked away, and Sheppard squirmed and thrashed as Rabbrine jabbed the syringe into his arm and set the sedative free in his system. Moments later, his brain felt like it was swimming in some kind of opaque, gelatinous fluid, everything becoming blurred and muffled as his motor controls failed and he could struggle no more.

In some distracted way, he became aware of arms holding his legs, another arm wrapping around his upper body as his cuffs released and his body fell, supported only by the others holding him and lowering him to ground level. His head lolled, making the room lurch in sickening waves each time it shifted. He could see the bed Tranaedan had steered in coming closer in his fractured and distorted sense of perception , and then he was on it, Rabbrine and Vandaer rolling him onto his front and stretched his arms out in front of him, magnetising them to the metal bed stead. Then in complete contrast, the gentle touch of a sheet being tossed over him lulled away a little of the pain his movement there had ignited.

He heard Tranaedan dismiss the other slave, as he stepped forward and grasped Sheppard's upper arms from his position at the head of the bed. 'Begin when you're ready, Curan Rabbrine,' his voice announced, the words somehow echoing around in Sheppard's head, mockingly emphasising his impending fate.

'Don't...do this...' he gasped, trying to lift his head, but failing dismally to come anywhere near coordinated movement.

In response, the magister's grip on him tightened, and he felt the sheet folded back to his waist, a cold, damp sensation on his skin telling him he was being swabbed ready for an incision.

'Begin,' Tranaedan ordered again, and as the physician followed that instruction Sheppard's screams filled the hangar he had thought held his means for escape.

oooOOOooo

The jumpers sped out across the Haraendon landscape, scanning for the registered tracking device on board the cargo vessel Sheppard had escaped on. Rodney watched the scanner readings, trying to stay calm as mile after mile revealed nothing of any use to them. He desperately wanted to see that transmitter reading they were looking for show up in their area so he could feel he'd played some part in rescuing his friend. So far, he felt like he'd simply abandoned Sheppard the last time they'd seen one another at the Tranaedan house, and his current situation was therefore at least partly down to him.

Teyla stood beside him, and though she maintained her exterior calm, he could see her breathing was far heavier and more erratic than normal. She wanted to see something just as much as he did, no matter how much she tried to hide it.

Suddenly, the signal they'd been so anxious to find showed up on the edge of their scans. 'There...look,' Rodney yelled, 'there it is!'

'I see it,' Harding acknowledged, steering the jumper in the direction the scans showed them. 'Dr Weir, we've locked on to the transmission in our sector. I recommend all teams converge on our position.'

'_Will do, Lieutenant,' _she responded.

They continued to head toward the dot on their scans, the small light moving away from them at first, and then seeming to double back toward them after a few moments.

'He is heading our way,' Teyla said. 'Is it possible he has seen us on his own craft's scanners?'

'Well, he might have picked us up, but he'd have no way of knowing it was us,' Rodney pointed out. 'And if he has picked us up, why isn't he keeping out of our way in case we're out here to take him back to Traginta Duo?'

'He's not even heading toward the 'gate,' Harding chimed in. 'Maybe Sheppard's not flying the ship at all.'

'Well, even if he isn't, the pilot should be heading for the 'gate,' Rodney called back to him. 'This doesn't make any sense. Do you have a visual yet? '

'Not yet.'

'But it should be directly in front of us.' Rodney watched the dot on the scanner approaching, now only a couple of hundred metres ahead of them. The landscape through the windshield was virtually flat between them and the approaching blip. They should have been able to see something by now.

'It is heading straight for us. Is it possible the vessel is cloaked?' Teyla suggested.

Harding activated their comms system. 'Dr Weir, could you ask the first minister if their ships possess cloaking capabilities?'

There was a slight pause before she responded. '_Apparently not. Is there a problem, Lieutenant?'_

Harding took evasive manoeuvres as the craft supposedly passed right over their course, still invisible to their eyes.

'What the hell...?' Rodney breathed, straightening up as Harding took them round to follow the signal. 'Oh, wait a minute...wait a minute.'

He darted forward, practically throwing the marine sitting beside Harding from his seat. He adjusted the settings of the jumper's scanning field, adding another reading they hadn't accounted for. The new scan, a three-dimensional one, showed him just what he'd feared.

'It's underground!' he squeaked.

He looked back at Teyla, seeing the horror register on her face as she digested what he'd just told her. This was why her telepathic friends couldn't find him anymore. The ship had been eaten by one of those huge underground monsters.

Harding looked across at McKay, his expression fixed although his deep swallow betrayed his true feelings. He slowed the jumper, knowing that following the transmitter was useless now.

Rodney reached out to activate a channel to the other jumpers. 'Elizabeth –'

A chorus of screams from the afflicted in the rear of the jumper cut him off before he could complete his report. He spun his seat round to see Teyla already back amongst them, trying to calm them enough to speak to them.

'What's wrong with them?'

'I do not know...I cannot get any sense from them.'

'Your friend!' a young man shrieked, seemingly in terrible pain. 'He is suffering...'

Rodney almost puked right there on the spot. 'Suffering? Is he...is he alive inside that thing?'

While the others wailed in the background, the young man continued to master his own torment to speak to them. 'No...he is not out here...I see him clearly now. He is back in Traginta Duo...with the magister...Magister Tranaedan...He is in terrible pain, and so, so afraid.'

A moment of panic passed between him and Teyla before Rodney turned and activated the radio again. 'Elizabeth. The afflicted have picked Sheppard up...he's back in Traginta Duo...at the Tranaedan house. He's in trouble. We have to be quick!'

Harding had already set their new course back to the city as Rodney had conveyed his message, pushing the jumper as hard as he could.

Elizabeth's voice broke through in the cockpit. '_We read you, Rodney. First Minister Thalaezin is going to communicate with the facilitators to ensure all three gates are open when we get there. If they're not, whichever of our teams gets there first is authorised to use whatever means you can safely employ to expedite our entry. Let's get him back, people.'_

Rodney felt a hand slip onto his shoulder, and he looked up to find Teyla gazing down on him, her lips curved into a smile, but her eyes bathed in the tears of her true anguish. 'We will get to him, Rodney. He _will_ come home with us.'

Behind her, the afflicted had fallen into some kind of exhausted stupor, their connection to Sheppard ended for their own welfare. That couldn't be a good sign, and Rodney had seen what Tranaedan was capable of the last time he'd seen Sheppard. He cursed himself again for not coming up with a way of getting him out of the man's clutches then. Now, if Sheppard didn't survive, he didn't know if he'd ever be able to forgive himself.

oooOOOooo

Just when he thought the pain couldn't get any worse, it did. The first incision had been made, and though the sedatives had taken the edge off just slightly, the pain was still there, perhaps heightened by the fact he remained fully aware of the procedure and what it was for. Sheppard pressed his forehead into the sweat soaked sheet beneath him and screwed his eyes shut as the physician prodded and poked within that opening, the sense of an unnatural pressure left inside him when the man straightened up again making him retch.

Rabbrine jabbed him with something he could only assume was meant to control that reaction, and the nausea quickly subsided to just a background annoyance compared to the other horrors being inflicted on him. The uneasy pressure in his back changed then to something else, something more sinister, something that was apparently creeping through his body – he could feel whatever was in there worming its way through tissue, setting off raw pains as it brushed past exposed nerve endings. He clutched the sheet, screwing it up in his balled fists and he ground out another cry.

'Arrrrghh! What...the hell..._is_ that?' He tried to pull away from the sensation, not convinced he'd come anywhere near successfully doing that since his responses were still so sluggish.

'Keep still! Squirming isn't going to make any difference,' Rabbrine chastised from his position at the bedside. 'The connector is bedding in so that it can take control of your kidney function once you're connected to the machine.'

'Hurry, Rabbrine,' Tranaedan ordered. 'I've asked the other staff to stay in their rooms because we're having a routine government inspection, but the women are already suspicious of what's going on down here. I want him in place and hidden before they come down here again.'

Rabbrine shifted to the other side of the bed, and more cold liquid was slopped over Sheppard's left kidney region. Moments later, the familiar pressure then pop of the physician's blade slicing through his skin awoke another area of intense, yet detached, pain in his back. He screamed and cursed into the thin mattress beneath him, then managed to tip his head so he could look at the magister ahead of him.

'Knock me out...please!'

'I'm sorry, John Sheppard, but that's not possible. We need you awake for the final stage of the procedure when we connect your brain to the machine. The adjustments required to ensure it's fitted correctly have to be done while the patient is at least partially alert to ensure the machine's control is complete. I need you to live and breathe flying this machine. It will be the only thing you ever think of again. If we knock you out now and wait for you to wake it will slow the procedure down to the point you may not survive long enough for the connection to be made. And I'm not going to lose the only pilot I have who can fly that ship.'

The weird, excruciating prodding and pulling sensation made him scream all over again, and new beads of sweat burst out on his face and arms, running off him in streams that saturated the bedding. It felt like Rabbrine had both hands in there poking around with his insides, and then he cut in some more to make room for the next connector, the pain building to a crescendo again. 'I'm sorry...your wife's dead! Just...stop this...please!' he begged again, hating the way those words sounded, but so desperate for respite from the pain he was prepared to say just about anything.

'It's not only about my wife, it's about you coming in here and turning my world upside down, it's about your self-important friends imposing themselves on me and making me feel I'm an inferior being in my own home, and it's about that ship...that wonderful, beautiful ship. I want to fly in it more than I've ever wanted to fly any ship. You must understand that feeling, John. You're a pilot. You must understand the thrill.'

Of course he knew what Tranaedan meant, but not when he was being dissected like a frog in a high school biology lab. The hideous creeping sensation started up again, sending cold shafts and raw pain shuddering through him. His whole body began to violently quake, his temperature dropping and his lungs seizing when he tried to breathe. 'How...many...more?' he panted, needing to know this would be over soon.

'The machine will control all your major body functions, so there's a long way to go yet, boy,' he heard Rabbrine say, matter-of-fact.

The smell of burning flesh pervaded the air, then, and Sheppard realised it was his when he began to feel like his lower back was on fire. The doctor was cauterising his wounds, sealing in those intrusive metal connectors so they could become a permanent addition to his anatomy.

'We need to turn him so I can continue,' Rabbrine told Tranaedan in his usual brusque manner.

His cuffs almost instantly released and his arms dropped, dangling over the sides of the bed. They felt as if they were weighted with lead – he couldn't even lift them an inch to try to help himself. They rolled him, pain exploding like fireworks as his torso twisted in transition to his new position. His mind raced through all the possible options for what they would do next – stomach, liver, oh, God, not his heart. The trembling took hold more fiercely than ever, his vision blurring when his eyes could no longer stay focused on any one thing.

'What's wrong with him?' he vaguely heard the magister ask, though he couldn't keep him in sight as the man leaned over him.

'He's going into shock,' Rabbrine snapped, and suddenly there was a new urgency to the doctor's movements. 'I warned you he wasn't fit for surgery. Now I need to stabilise him or he'll die before I even finished preparing him for connection.'

'_Hold on, John. Help is near,' _he heard the sensory's voice whisper in his ear, little more than a random sigh in amongst the rushing sound filling his head as his heart pumped his blood frantically around his failing body. He sounded so far away now...so very far away. And Sheppard didn't want to hold on any more. This was unbearable. He needed the bliss of unconsciousness, no matter whether that meant the next time he woke would be to serve the magister. His eyes rolled almost uncontrollably, unable to fix on one point, a fact that made him feel as if he were tumbling around the room, thrown about in the whirlwind he thought he could hear all around him...the whirlwind that denoted his body's desperate struggle to survive. _Give up, John,_ he ordered himself. _Let it go._

He felt his arms being secured again, then a sharp prick as a needle punctured the vein inside his elbow and pumped in some other vile concoction meant to preserve him.

A muffled voice called out for the doctor to get on with it, and he thought he heard Rabbrine put up a short argument, but he was obviously persuaded to press on.

A pain struck low down on his abdomen, Tranaedan pressing down on his shoulders to stop him reacting, though his legs reflexively drew up. Someone, probably Rabbrine, though it was hard to keep track now, pressed them down and something was wrapped around his ankles, no doubt to secure them to the bed. Rabbrine returned to his butchery, but somehow, Sheppard felt detached from it now, the pain still registering, but in some bizarre way feeling as if it were happening somewhere else too far away to fully reach him.

Then something happened...noise...vibrations...plaster shaking loose from the ceiling and raining down on them all as the two men around him cried out in apparent terror. Sheppard suddenly had a reason to stay conscious, the sound of voices, voices he recognised, getting louder and closer as the physician yelled to Tranaedan that the surgery was over.

And then the room was full of people all screaming instructions, the noise mingling with that whirlwind in his head to become an almost overwhelming cacophony, his mind fazing out for a moment until a hand on his forehead, stroking back his hair, brought welcome warmth to his cold, clammy skin.

He opened his eyes to find Teyla looking down on him, Elizabeth soon beside her and yelling for someone to release his cuffs. Tranaedan must have capitulated at the sight of several angry armed marines, because his arms dropped away from the bed frame almost instantly. Elizabeth caught his hand and held it tight, telling him to stay with them, a message echoed by Teyla, over and over.

Elsewhere he could hear Ronon raging and McKay whimpering. He even thought he saw the scientist hovering in the background, eyes wide and his face white as snow.

He relaxed, knowing that if he was to die now, at least it was amongst friends who would ensure his body made it home and he wouldn't fester in this house as the other pilots had. Then, as he often did, he disobeyed an order, letting go of his tenuous grip on reality and slipping into the peaceful and painless surrealism of unconsciousness, its welcoming embrace pulling him under as his ears rang with his friends' cries, begging him to stay.


	37. Chapter 37

**Chapter 37 **

The sight that met Carson's eyes as he entered the hangar of the grand house now sporting a jumper wedged through its front doorway was far worse than he could ever have imagined. He'd thought that scene of carnage was difficult enough to negotiate, tripping his way through the twisted metal and splintered wood of what had no doubt once formed an imposing entrance, but down in that underground chamber he found something that turned even his experienced stomach.

Elizabeth had put the call out for him to come through the 'gate with another jumper team the minute they'd located the colonel and suspected he was injured, but he still wasn't sure he'd arrived quickly enough. Colonel Sheppard lay pale and inert on some kind of operating table in the middle of the completely non-sterile environment, his sheets, both beneath him and on top soaked in blood. His body clearly displayed several injuries, even from that distance, ranging from bruises right through to deep cuts and burns. The man looked like he'd been to hell and back...well, Carson reconsidered, looking around the place, he couldn't be sure he'd actually made it back, yet.

Standing beside Sheppard, Teyla and Elizabeth kept watch over him, Elizabeth holding Sheppard's hand as if she was afraid to let go of it, while Teyla held a pressure pad on the colonel's stomach just beneath a swathe of scarlet-stained bedding.

To the left of that group, two marines kept their guns trained on a hulk of a man now being restrained some several feet away. His face was bloodied and almost puce with anger as Ronon pinned him down, and Carson was certainly glad there were so many military personnel there to guard him, although it wasn't entirely clear whether or not the marines might be there for the floored man's benefit. Ronon looked like he was about to tear the man's head clean off his shoulders, so they might have actually been there to prevent that.

Away on his right, Rodney leaned against the hull of a ship, looking drawn and shaky, unable to face Sheppard's way at all. He was never good with blood, so Carson understood that. It was better he stayed at a distance and didn't get into a state that other people had to deal with.

For a second, seeing them all that way, Carson thought he was too late, but, after faltering as he took in the scene, Elizabeth's eyes lifted to his and silently implored him to help. Knowing he had work to do, he forced down his own shock and sprang into action.

'Make room, please,' he ordered, everyone stepping aside as he swung his medical kit off his shoulder, setting it down next to the bed. He automatically tested Sheppard for a pulse, finding it there but very weak, and his breathing frighteningly shallow. Still, a weak pulse and shallow breathing gave him something to work with, which was more than he'd initially expected, and he pulled out his oxygen mask, ordering Teyla to bag the colonel to aid with his oxygen levels while he continued to assess him.

'They've carried out some kind of surgery,' Elizabeth told him, her voice cracking. She cleared her throat before she continued. 'He has an injury to his lower abdomen...Teyla's keeping pressure on it...and they've done something to his back...' her voice tapered off, and Carson just nodded, first lifting the pressure pad on Sheppard's stomach to take a peek at the crudely stitched wound.

'I had the surgeon sew him back up to stop the worst of the bleeding,' Elizabeth explained. 'I didn't dare ask him to do anything else in case it complicated things for you.'

'That's all right, Elizabeth. I'm taking charge from here on.' He bent down to get a look at Sheppard's back as best he could without moving him too far. 'Dear lord! What have they done to him?' he breathed, catching sight of the metal inserts protruding from his burned skin.

'They were going to attach him to a machine, or so the surgeon told me,' she explained. Then she called to Major Lorne, 'Bring Rabbrine over here.'

Carson began setting up an IV of dopamine as the wiry little man was pushed and prodded forward.

'What's that thing in his back?' Carson demanded as he worked, sliding a cannula into the back of the colonel's left hand. His skin was cold and clammy to the touch, and he knew it was vital to get the colonel's heart pumping faster again to avoid the onset of acidosis, especially since he suspected whatever had been implanted in his back was impacting on his kidney function.

Rabbrine blustered out an explanation. 'It's a connector for a life support system...his owner wanted him to be...controlled by it. It would have taken over his mind and body functions –'

'His owner? He doesn't have a bloody owner!' Carson spat, 'Now how do I get it out?'

The man didn't respond at first, and when Carson looked up, Major Lorne nudged the man in the back with the muzzle of his P-90 to urge him to speak.

'If you remove the cap there is a switch inside to deactivate it. You have to do that first or you'll shred his organs.'

Carson continued to work, attaching the IV line and setting the dopamine running before handing Elizabeth the bag of solution to hold. 'What do you mean, shred?'

'It's attached by a number of electrodes that have extended out into the surrounding tissue. You need to ensure they are all released before removing it.'

'Understood. I want this man with us in case of any complications,' he barked, and when the little man tried to protest, Elizabeth spoke up.

'You don't mind us borrowing this gentleman for a short time, do you First Minister?'

'No...please, take him with you by all means,' the first minister agreed. Carson didn't see who spoke, but could tell from the cadence of his voice that whoever did was finding this all rather stressful. He probably couldn't wait to be rid of them.

'Thank you,' he replied, letting the words reach whoever had given him permission.

He checked the abdominal injury again, and pulled out a field dressing from his kit, pressing the pad against the slow-bleeding wound and securing it around Sheppard's hips tightly enough that it wouldn't slip. When he'd done, Teyla laid her hand on top of it again, adding much needed pressure to the injury. With the dopamine in place, the colonel's heart rate would hopefully soon speed up again and the bleeding would most likely increase. Getting him to the infirmary quickly where he could carry out the necessary surgery to repair his body was now vital.

'Right people, we need to move the colonel as smoothly and as quickly as possible. Teyla, you keep doing exactly what you're doing, love. Elizabeth, if you could hold his arm and carry the IV bag for me.' She nodded, lifting Sheppard's arm and laying it across his body, holding it there. 'Now you,' he pointed at the wiry doctor, who looked rather alarmed at the gesture, 'you show me how to work this bed.'

As Rabbrine activated the release that set the bed hovering, Carson steered the bed toward the hangar door as quickly as he dared.

'Oh, and by the way,' Carson continued, looking toward Major Lorne again. 'Could somebody kindly move that bloody jumper out of the doorway? I almost broke my neck getting in here so I don't fancy my chances of getting this bed past it!'

The major nodded, activating his earpiece to convey the message. Carson looked down at the colonel's almost translucent complexion, his heart sinking. This was one very sick man, and from the looks of him – the various other injuries across his torso – there was a chance he was running at least a low grade infection already. The odds were stacked against him. But the colonel had cheated the odds on more than one occasion. Carson just prayed to God he could do it one more time.

oooOOOooo

_Waking up cradled in the bough of the tree in the lands outside Traginta Duo had been the last thing Sheppard expected, but for some reason, this time he felt completely serene. He gazed out across the Haraendon landscape, admiring its variations and colour tones, its mixture of ruggedness and undulating grasslands, rippling in the soft breeze, blue mountains rising away in the distance, while the warm sun brought life-giving heat to his skin._

'_Beautiful isn't it?' the sensory asked from his position just slightly lower in the branches._

'_Yeah, it is,' Sheppard sighed, laying right back with his hands behind his head, admiring the outlook. 'I could get used to it.'_

'_How long do you plan on staying here?'_

_Sheppard looked down at his companion, puzzled. 'You mean, I have a choice?'_

'_Of course you have a choice,' the sensory smiled. 'Why would you imagine you haven't?'_

'_But...I thought I was dead.'_

_The sensory laughed, then, a full belly laugh. He shook his head, reaching up and patting Sheppard's calf. 'No, my boy, you're not dead. Besides, I thought you'd decided this place was hell. Is that what you think you deserve?'_

_Sheppard sat up on his branch, dangling his boots over the sides, combat boots, standard issue, to go with the rest of the Atlantis uniform he now wore. It felt good to be back in his own clothes, clean and pain free, even if it was only in his imagination. He shrugged at the question. 'I'm no saint.'_

'_Maybe not, but you're not as bad as you think you are, either.'_

_He looked across the landscape again, heat rippling up from the ground, birds riding the thermals overhead and no sign of any problems at all. It was peaceful, and he breathed in the fresh air, enjoying its cleansing purity._

'_My friends really did come and get me, right?' he asked, seeking reassurance that those final disjointed moments had been real._

'_They did. You currently reside in the Atlantis infirmary recovering from your injuries.'_

'_So I'm not a half-man, half-machine?'_

'_You mean like I was?'_

_Sheppard looked down at his companion and spotted the twinkle of amusement in his eye. 'I think you were way more than that,' he told him. 'It must have taken a lot of strength to override that machine and communicate when they thought you couldn't.'_

'_It did, but luckily they also underestimated me. My body might have been failing, but my mind was as clear as it had ever been.'_

_Sheppard nodded, knowing that was true; the man was dead and could still communicate with him, which thankfully appeared to be more than the magistra was capable of. 'So, if I'm on Atlantis now, why didn't you just communicate with me like this in the first place?'_

_The sensory gave him a patient smile, like a teacher explaining a complicated equation to a confused pupil. 'I can reach you now because I'm dead, but you had to come and kill me to give me that freedom. Does that make sense?'_

_Sheppard supposed it did._

'_Besides, if I had come to you in a dream and asked for help, would you have actually believed me?'_

'_Probably not,' he confessed. 'But I think I was convinced before Tranaedan decided to hook me up to the jumper.'_

'_Yes, that was unfortunate.' The smile fell from the sensory's face. 'Circumstances changed with the interference of the magistra and got rather out of hand. It was only once she was dead my afflicted kin could locate you again. Had she not shielded you from them, rescue would have come much sooner.'_

_The fact the sensory was there sharing his tree made another question pop into Sheppard's mind._

'_Did I do what you needed me to do?'_

'_In a way, yes...changes are certainly afoot in my world.'_

_Sheppard stared at him, the old man meeting his eyes and holding them, and Sheppard sensed something was wrong. 'It didn't go the way you planned, did it?'_

_The sensory's smile turned grim. 'Not exactly...no.'_

_The sensory continued to gaze back at him, and Sheppard instinctively understood what that look meant. 'I'm not finished yet, am I?'_

'_Not quite,' the sensory conceded._

'_Aww, crap!'_

'_No need to worry, John. There is no more physical input required of you. Now you just need to talk.'_

'_Talk to who about what?'_

'_You don't need me to explain, John. You'll soon understand. It's time to wake up now. Go back to your friends...and thank you for all that you've done and will do for us.'_

Sheppard's lids strained open to muted lighting, a gentle beeping, the pressure of electrodes on his temples and chest, and the distinct feeling he'd been drinking sand.

He was alone, and though that struck him as odd, it was nice to savour his first conscious moments without having to answer dozens of questions. He looked around the room, the sight of Lantean architecture making his heart soar with relief, the familiar connection already buzzing in his head. He really had made it home. He could sense it, see it, smell it and even taste it, the air here on the ocean having that slightly salty taint he'd always loved so much since taking up surfing as a boy.

He'd barely come to terms with everything around him when Carson bustled in, and was straight into a series of checks. 'Welcome back, Colonel. How're you feeling?'

He hadn't actually taken time to figure that out yet, and now he thought about it, he felt a hell of a lot better than the last time he'd been conscious. 'Pretty good,' he croaked, wincing at the way each of those words seemed to claw their way out of his throat.

Carson held a cup of water up for him and allowed him a few sips from the straw. It gave instant relief, though he would have happily drained the cup if Carson hadn't taken it away too quickly.

'Hold up there, Colonel. Let's not rush things!' the Scot smiled, 'Let's get you fully checked out before we try being too adventurous, eh?'

'How long have I been out, Doc?' Sheppard asked as Carson went through the various checks procedure required.

'Almost a week,' he replied, flicking his penlight quickly in front of the colonel's eyes to test his pupil responses, 'though you were kept medically sedated for some of that time. And believe me, when we brought you in here I wasn't sure you were even going to last that long. It's a good thing the rescue teams found you when they did.'

'You're telling me.'

Carson stopped what he was doing and gave the colonel an earnest look. 'Do you remember much about what happened, son?'

Sheppard thought about lying because it would save him and everyone else a whole load of stress and soul searching, but he didn't have it in him. 'Yeah...every minute,' he confessed.

'Good lord!' Carson breathed, then he gently squeezed Sheppard's forearm. 'We'll get you better, son. I promise.'

Sheppard nodded, desperately battling to control the tremor in his lower lip by biting down on it, hiding it from the medic's searching gaze.

As if sensing the need for a change of subject, Carson took a deep breath and clapped his hands together. 'Right, well I left four very anxious people in my office a moment ago when your readings showed you'd woken. I know they'll be very happy to see you awake...just for a minute, mind.'

'Sure...why not?' he smiled, trying to push himself up a little in his bed.

'Oh...no need for that, Colonel.' Carson handed him a remote from his nightstand. 'Here, this lifts and lowers the head of your bed with no effort required from your abdominal muscles. Best not to strain them too much yet.'

'Thanks, Carson,' he grinned, resisting the urge to break into a Homer Simpsonesque chorus of 'Bed goes up, bed goes down,' while he adjusted it to a comfortable position.

Carson contacted Elizabeth to let her know Sheppard was ready to see them, and within what seemed to be seconds the room was filled with happy faces and voices asking him those dozens of questions he'd put off for just a short time.

'All right, settle down,' Carson ordered. 'The colonel might be awake, but he's far from well, so let's not push him too hard.'

'It is good to have you back with us, John,' Teyla said, stepping forward and laying both her hands on his arm, careful to avoid his IV line.

'Well, it's good to be back,' he told her, patting her hands in return. A moment of silence descended, where suddenly no one seemed to know what to say, but thankfully, someone felt uncomfortable enough to fill it for him.

'Well, at least the rest of us will be able to get some sleep now. While you've snoozed the past week away, the rest of us have been worried sick and have hardly slept a wink,' Rodney told him, with his forced-on, crooked smile.

'Rodney...' Carson warned, but Sheppard held up a wobbly hand to stop him.

'It's okay, Carson. I understand. McKay needs as much beauty sleep as he can get, after all,' he smirked, his trade-mark humour apparently setting most of those gathered there at ease.

But not Ronon.

When Sheppard looked at his Satedan friend he saw real anger, his young face lined with a scowl. 'Hey, buddy...you okay?' he asked.

Ronon nodded, a deep swallow his only answer, then, his eyes moist, he turned and left.

'Ronon!' Teyla made to follow him, but Sheppard leaned over and grabbed her arm, wincing as he did so. Once he'd regained his composure, he said, 'Leave him a while. Right now, I figure he feels like knocking some heads together. It's probably best to give him some space.'

'I second that,' Rodney piped up. 'He's been like a bear with a sore head ever since we got back. I invited him to breakfast yesterday and I thought he was gonna stab me...with all his knives!'

A cold rush passed through Sheppard and he felt suddenly weak, the effort of stopping Teyla's departure apparently using what little strength he had.

Carson had obviously been watching him like a hawk, and pounced the moment he saw that slight change in him.

'All right, people, you've all seen him, so how about we let him get some proper rest now? And might I suggest you all do the same?'

Teyla and Rodney said their goodnights, and departed, but Elizabeth hung back to have a private word. Carson backed out to give them some room, apparently confident enough in the Atlantis leader's ability to leave without being dragged away.

Her mouth twisted up into her trademark smirk as she gazed down at him, but it was strained, and she looked exhausted. 'I don't mind telling you we thought we'd lost you there,' she said, her voice soft as if even speaking loudly might break him.

'Well, for a moment there,_ I_ thought you were gonna lose me,' he quipped, and she tried very hard to appreciate the joke, but it was clearly a struggle.

'I'm sorry it took us so long to locate you. The afflicted think magistra Tranaedan was blocking them from sensing you...apparently they can do that kind of thing.'

'Yeah...the sensory kept stuff about me from her, so I guess she could do the same,' he mused.

Elizabeth assumed a more cheerful demeanour, giving him a big smile. 'At least they could find you once she was gone. And Carson tells me he was able to repair the damage to your body, so there should be no long-term effects. You probably ought to give golf a miss for a while, though. Those swings might smart a little.'

He winced at the mere thought of it. 'Yeah, I think you're right. On the bright side, I have a good reason to say no to one of Ronon or Teyla's sparring sessions for a while.' And then his mind was back to his friend, and how hard Ronon had found it to cope with seeing him so beat up. Or maybe something else was on his mind...

'Well, for every cloud,' she began, letting his mind fill in the end of that phrase.

'Are they all okay...my team?' Sheppard asked. The question kind of blurted out before he'd fully thought about asking it, but he did need to know, no matter how tired and sore he felt.

'They're fine, John. You just concentrate on getting yourself better. They're big and ugly enough to look after themselves.'

'Ronon...?' He couldn't be any more direct with his questioning than that, and couldn't put the feeling into a sentence even, for fear of giving something away that the Satedan was keeping quiet.

'Oh, you know, he's angry...but then, he's nearly always angry about something!'

He nodded, feeling the threat of tears pricking in his eyes. He blinked the feeling away, chewing his lip until he felt steady enough to speak again without this voice quaking.

'It's my fault we all got stuck there,' he confessed, feeling a terrible pang of guilt as he once again wondered what had happened to Ronon at Ashnael's hands. 'I shouldn't have listened to that voice...it just got right inside my head and...and threw me...'

Elizabeth gently laid a hand on his shoulder. 'The post mission dissection can wait until another time, John. Anyway, from what I understand, if you hadn't followed that voice, Ronon would most likely be dead right now.'

So, perhaps that was why Ronon was angry. Maybe the Satedan felt his predicament had pushed him into making a call he wouldn't normally have made, and then he'd ended up in the infirmary because of it.

Sheppard hoped that was all it was.

'I should never have given Ashnael an inch. I knew the slimy bastard was trouble.' And now his skin was crawling with remembrance of the little creep's touches and threats. He so wished he'd killed him now. But then another thought popped into his head. 'Ishraela –'

Elizabeth held up a hand to stop him. 'Is fine. We found her inside the jumper when we found you and brought her back here. She's been staying with Teyla, so she could be here when you woke up. You can see her in the morning.'

He nodded. 'And Dezrin?'

'Ah...yes. He's back on Haraendon now, but I'm sure he'd like to see you some time, too. If we can arrange it. Suffice to say, he and the other boys and young men serving in Ashnael's house have found new employ. Now, I know Carson is probably just itching to boot me out of here, so why don't we do this catch up another time? You rest, John. Let us take care of everything for now.'

With a final affected smile, she left him, and he watched the empty area where she'd stood a while, thinking about what she'd said. The trouble was, he apparently couldn't let them take care of things, because there was still something he needed to do. But with no one willing to burden him with any useful information right now, he figured whatever he was still required to do would reveal itself in time, and for now he would just have to be patient.

Carson returned to settle him down and ensure he had everything he needed, then left him to the care of the night staff. Apparently, he hadn't slept much for the past week, either, and now he'd regained consciousness, the Scot finally felt happy to sleep in his own bed rather than catnapping in his office. It took Sheppard quite some time to drift off to sleep, with so many worries and horrific memories to contend with, but somehow he managed it, all the time wondering how long it would be before this latest mission fully relented its grip on him.

oooOOOooo

It was a little over a week after that before Carson finally agreed that he could be released back to his own quarters, and much as he was grateful for everything the doctor had done for him, Sheppard couldn't help but feel relieved to be back in the privacy of his own room. The past nine days had seen him subjected to numerous checks and rigorous monitoring, but now, with his wounds healing and his infection beaten, he could once again roam the corridors of Atlantis a free man.

He'd finally wangled his release because Carson was short of infirmary space because he was treating a number of the afflicted. A chat with Rodney had enlightened him to the fact that even after a kidney transplant operation, a cousin of his living in Saskatoon had been allowed to go home after eight days, so he'd passed that on to Carson three days ago. The doctor had countered with the fact that most kidney transplant recipients hadn't had seven shades of crap beaten out of them prior to surgery, and he'd had no come back to that. Now, three days on, Dr Beckett had been forced to relent, despite the fact he had really wanted to keep him in his sights for a while longer to ensure he was taking it easy.

Of course, Carson had insisted on wheeling him all the way to his door, just like they did back home when they released you from hospital and wheeled you to the exit, but it had been unnecessary, though much quicker than walking. Sheppard wasn't sorry he wouldn't be riding in one of the infirmary chariots again, but they had their uses.

'Now remember,' Carson told him as he clambered out of the wheelchair and crossed over to his bed. 'You're to report to the infirmary every morning at 0900 hours for a check-up until I say so. I want to keep an eye on that kidney function of yours.'

'I'll be there, Doc,' Sheppard promised, sitting down carefully on the edge of his mattress.

'And you have your pain killers?'

Sheppard delved into his pocket and pulled out the small bottle, rattling it. 'Got 'em.'

'All right...well, I'd better get back to my rounds with the afflicted. Och, we really have to find something better to call them.'

He backed out, leaving Sheppard smirking behind him. He had to agree, it wasn't really the nicest thing to label them.

Once Carson was gone, the first thing he did was cross to his mirror and hitch up his shirt to examine his battle scars. Carson had done a heck of a job of patching him up, but as yet the scars were still angry and red, and at four inches on each side they were still uncomfortable if he moved too quickly. Unbuckling his belt, he pushed his waistband down at the front and saw a similar sized, raw-looking line low on his abdomen, too. Still, he could comfort himself with the fact that in a year or so they would have faded to white and be far less noticeable. Then, he remembered something else, slipping his shirt fully off and peering at the mark of Magister Tranaedan permanently burned into his shoulder. He sighed, figuring that was something else he'd probably want to get fixed in time. He really couldn't stomach the idea of walking around with a slave's brand on his shoulder blade for the rest of his life, even if he was the only one who knew what it meant.

He'd just slipped back into his T-shirt when a chime at his door alerted him to the fact he had a visitor.

'Already?' he breathed, realising his much-awaited chance for privacy had just evaporated.

When the door drew back it was Teyla on the other side, with a beaming Ishraela standing in front of her.

'Ishraela has decided to rejoin her people today, but she wished to see you first,' Teyla explained with a half-apologetic smile.

'Aww, and just when I'm back on my feet,' he said, giving her his best puppy dog eyes. 'I'll miss you, kid.' He ruffled her hair playfully, and she beamed up at him, apparently freshly missing a front tooth. He stopped himself from mentioning the tooth fairy, figuring she'd see through the ruse before he'd even finished telling her the story.

'I know, but you'll cope,' she joked, at least he figured it was a joke. In truth, having her around _had _been a little comforting in the fact that she hadn't rushed in to tell him anything awful was about to happen. He figured she would have done that if necessary. Now he was going to have to go back to relying on scientists and his gut instinct – he supposed he'd pick the habit up again, soon enough. 'Are you going to show me to the Stargate?'

'I do not think we should trouble Colonel Sheppard too much,' Teyla started to explain, but Sheppard jumped in and interrupted her.

'No, it's okay, Teyla. Ishraela put herself on the line for me a few times. The least I can do is wave her off.'

Teyla didn't look too sure, but when he turned the puppy dog eyes on her, too, she soon caved. 'Very well. But I have spoken with Carson, and he assures me you still need a lot of rest –'

'I promise to come straight back to my room when we're done,' he told her, grateful for the concern she showed him. After his experiences at the hands of the upper classes in Traginta Duo, he'd almost forgotten what kindness was like. Thankfully, an equal amount of time back amongst his friends had renewed his faith in humankind, though how he would ever be able to trust off-world strangers again, he wasn't so sure.

'Then I will leave you to it,' she said, kneeling to give the little girl a warm hug.

'Thanks for what you did for my people, Teyla,' the little girl said as she gave her a squeeze.

'I wish it could have been more. Perhaps one day we will find a way for them to return to your home world as equals.'

'They will...one day.'

Ishraela looked up at John and he saw real purpose there in her eyes. He realised then that the invitation to take her to the 'gate hadn't simply been a sign of friendship...she wanted to talk to him.

'I'll catch you later, Teyla,' he smiled as she stood and Ishraela took his hand, guiding him toward the door.

'Remember...straight back to your room,' she called after him, remaining just outside his door as he and the little girl headed for a transporter.

When they did step inside, Sheppard ordered the doors to close but didn't set it on its way. 'I take it this is the part where you start telling me about "events aligning"?' he asked, looking down at the pretty little red girl.

Her amber eyes twinkled. 'You learn fast, John. That's partly why Narandael chose you.'

'What do I have to do now?'

She smiled and squeezed his hand a little tighter. 'Just be you, John. That's all we need you to do now.'

'For who?'

'The Dalmarians...talk to Dr Weir. She knows everything you need to know. Just trust those instincts of yours. They always lead you well.'

He nodded, and set the transporter moving, and seconds later they were walking into the 'gate room. Zelenka wandered through on his way to the control room, stopping to smile at the little girl and then ask, 'Shouldn't you be resting, Colonel?'

'Well, I have to see my little friend here off first,' Sheppard told him, giving him a look that suggested he shouldn't broach the subject again.

'Right...yes...of, course. Goodbye, Ishraela,' the little Czech muttered, shuffling away to fulfil his intended trip.

Sheppard looked up to where Chuck sat at the 'gate controls and signalled for him to dial up M5P 886, a lush world inhabited by a relatively primitive people who had welcomed in the afflicted of Ishraela's enclosure with open arms. They had been forced to relocate them to many different planets, so he'd been told, because no one planet could take the many hundreds of them forced to live in squalor in the Forbidden Zones. It simply wasn't ecologically feasible. Some of them had been admitted to the infirmary while he'd been there, those too sick to move to a new planet. Most had died, their cancers too advanced to treat, but at least Carson and his team had made their transition more comfortable. That had to be worth something. And the doctor had also theorised form his studies of their physiologies that now they were removed from the electromagnetic fields and iron rich environments of the Forbidden Zones, the afflicteds' minds and bodies might eventually return to a more normal function and appearance. How long it would take was currently anyone's guess, but if it was true, that might make their reintegration a hell of a lot more palatable to the city folk.

'Ishraela. Were you going to leave without saying goodbye to me?' he heard Rodney pipe up from behind them.

Sheppard peered stiffly over his shoulder to see not only McKay, but also Elizabeth walking down the steps from the higher level to join them.

'Not at all,' Ishraela replied simply. 'I knew you'd come.'

'But of course you did,' the scientist grouched, plunging his hands into his pocket with a wry smile. 'How could I have doubted that?'

'Good bye, Dr Weir. Thank you for letting me stay.'

'It was my pleasure,' she said warmly, though she pulled up short of offering physical affection to the child, ever the professional. 'I'll check up on you and your people soon.'

Lorne marched in then, his team in tow, ready to escort Ishraela to her new village. He acknowledged Sheppard, then asked, 'Shouldn't you be resting, Sir?'

Annoyed that it seemed everyone in the city had been informed of his need to rest, Sheppard fired back, 'Shouldn't you be showing this little girl to her new home, Major?'

'Just about to, Sir,' he nodded, flashing a look Elizabeth's way that he took note of, but didn't comment on. So his XO didn't think he was up to the challenge, yet? Well, much as he appreciated the concern, he would rather be the judge of that himself.

Ishraela took his hand again, and then wrapped her other arm around his waist in a hug that made him flinch, something that, sadly for him, proved Lorne's point. She pulled back with an apology, then, giving him one last beaming smile, she walked away with Lorne and his men, swallowed up by the rippling event horizon and spirited away to another, hopefully much happier life.

'Well, there's a lunch tray in the mess hall with my name on it,' Rodney announced, clapping his hands and rubbing them together with glee. 'Care to join me, Sheppard?'

'You go ahead, I'll catch up with you,' he said, catching Elizabeth's eye just as she was about to leave them to it. She knitted her fingers in front of her and waited patiently for Rodney to make himself scarce.

'Huh, I'd like to see you try,' McKay quipped, giving him a lop-sided smile.

Though kind of amused, Sheppard feigned his best unimpressed expression, forcing an uncommon apology from Rodney before he sloped away.

'So,' Elizabeth chimed. 'You wanted to talk to me?'

'Yeah, I think it's time, don't you?'

She stared back into his eyes, reading his meaning in an instant. 'Okay...shall we go to my office?'

She turned and headed that way without waiting for his agreement, and he did his best to keep up, but speed really wasn't his thing right now. Eventually, realising he hadn't kept pace with her, Elizabeth slowed and waited for him. It irritated him a little, as if she thought he couldn't manage the stairs without being there to keep an eye on him, but he let it slide, happy enough that she was willing to accommodate his request for a conversation.

Once in her office, she gestured to a free seat and poured them both a coffee while he gingerly settled himself into it. He'd been assured his body was well on the way to recovery, but somehow he still felt as if he could split his wounds if he moved too suddenly. He'd never felt this uncertain about a recovery before, and knew it was probably some deeply rooted psychological issue he was choosing to ignore that caused it. So, he didn't let on, keeping those irrational worries to himself.

'So, you're finally out,' Weir smirked as she handed him a mug and sat behind her desk. 'How're you feeling?'

'Pretty good, actually, but I didn't come here to talk about me.' He fixed his gaze on her, letting her know he wasn't in the mood for any small talk. For the past week, people had been treating him with kid gloves, glossing over any issues from Haraendon he'd tried to raise. Well, now he'd been discharged they had no reason not to give him details.

'All right,' she nodded, leaning forward at her desk. 'What do you want to know?'

'Let's start with what happened back on Haraendon after you picked me up.'

'Okay, well, you'll be glad to hear that Magister Tranaedan and Mercator Ashnael are currently awaiting trial for crimes involving trading in off-worlders and attempted murder. They are still in their own homes until their trial date comes up, but they've had all the slaves from their households removed until they have been checked and it can be fully established that none of them are off-worlders. Ashnael has also had his licence to trade in slaves removed...not that he's currently in a fit state to trade in anything.'

'So they're theoretically in trouble until they pay someone to make all this go away,' he grunted, sipping his drink. 'So what's happened to their slaves?'

'They've been introduced to other households for the time being.'

He sighed, trying to keep his anger in, but he knew what that meant. 'For the time being? So they could end up going back to them eventually?'

She held his angry gaze, keeping her voice even. 'Well, unfortunately keeping and mistreating slaves isn't currently considered a crime unless they are kidnapped as you were...and even then it's only a crime if they're caught out by people like us.'

'So, what? We're just sitting back and letting them all carry on the way they were? Tranaedan and Ashnael can't be the only ones mistreating their slaves. I know of at least one other household where the slaves are likely to be...' he paused, not sure how to carry on and describe what the Callaedins were likely to be up to with their slaves. 'And what's to stop some other unsuspecting travellers falling into their trap? Once anyone steps through that gate, they're trapped.'

'Not any more. Radek removed the device when we thought you were out there somewhere trying to get home, and I did ask...well, demand that they didn't resurrect it so no one else would face being trapped there like the Dalmarians were. Apparently they put the device on the DHD about five years ago when they realised they needed fresh blood to keep their population going, and government crafts from the nearest city head out that way every day to pick up anyone the purraets spare. Not that many people came through. They mostly go off world for trade, passing that off as a benevolent act when they're actually concealing the truth of their society, so only a few poor souls looking for new trade ventured through to Haraendon, and those lucky enough not to get eaten found themselves inducted into their breeding programme.'

'And since we can't trust these guys as far as we can throw them, I assume we'll be carrying out regular checks to ensure they really don't wire that DHD up again?'

'That can certainly be arranged. Look, I understand how you feel, John, and you have a better understanding of what's going on in that city than any of us, but right now our hands are pretty much tied. They've shut their doors to us, and no matter how much we've tried to persuade them to let us in, they're not interested. Short of shooting out their shields and forcing our way in there, we have to give them time and hope they see sense. '

'But we can help them with the sickness that's affecting their population –'

She held up her hands as if in surrender. 'I know that, and you know that, but they have another more pressing issue on their minds, one we sadly can't help them with.'

'What issue?'

She sighed, picking up her coffee mug and nursing it as she leaned back in her seat now. 'Unfortunately, when we came to rescue you, we had a delegate from the Dalmarian trade council aboard one of our jumpers, and he followed us in. Not surprisingly, what he saw has made the Dalmarians withdraw trade from Haraendon.'

The Dalmarians...the race Ishraela had mentioned...the ones he was supposed to talk to. He pressed Elizabeth for more details. 'The Dalmarians? Didn't I meet some of them a little while back?' he asked. Normally, his memory was pretty good, but lately his recall of events was always clouded by images from his time as a slave. He had trouble clearly picturing things from before it right now, his mind always wandering to the nightmares that troubled him...and his encounter with Ashnael...

'Yes. You saved some of them when they were caught up in a Wraith culling,' she replied. 'In fact, I think that's partly the problem. They apparently hold you in great esteem, and can't even tolerate the idea of continuing to trade with a planet capable of inflicting such horrible acts on someone of your..."noble spirit", I think was their exact choice of words. And believe me, I've tried to change their minds on that, but they are absolutely adamant.'

'Okay...I guess I'm still a little fuzzy here, but how does all this affect our relations with Haraendon?'

'Dalmaria supplies Haraendon with a vast amount of their food supplies. Without their trade, and with no other planet in Pegasus able to supply food in the volumes they can, the peoples of the Centum Civis are facing starvation. That's one of the reasons why so many of the afflicted chose to leave the planet...they knew they would be the first to feel the effects.'

'They're gonna starve and they see it as our fault?' So that was why curing the sickness meant so little to them. And then, it all suddenly made sense to him. The Dalmarians where the only people in the whole of the Pegasus galaxy who could hold enough sway over the peoples of the Centum Civis to force them to make changes to their society. They needed to persuade them to resume trade, but with conditions, and since they apparently regarded him so highly, it looked like it was his job to do the persuading. That was why the sensory had wanted him on that ship to Dalmaria, but he could still make this happen.

'I'll talk them round,' he announced, watching Elizabeth's eyes widen.

'I didn't think negotiation was your thing,' she replied, but he sat forward, setting his drink down on the edge of her desk.

'You said yourself, these guys respect me. If I talk to them, they might listen, and if we can persuade them to trade again, we can use that as leverage to force change.'

'I'm not sure you're up to this...you're supposed to be resting –'

'I don't need to rest! Stop telling me what to do,' he snapped. Then, realising his outburst was unlikely to win Elizabeth's favour, he forced himself to calm down. Traginto Duo was apparently...very apparently...still exercising some hold over him, making him reluctant to follow orders even when they were given in his best interest. He had to find a way to put those feelings behind him somehow.

Taking a few seconds to cool off, he continued. 'When I went to Traginta Duo, it was because something told me I should go there. The sensory...the guy imprisoned in the Tranaedan house, called me there because he knew I was someone who could make a difference to his people and the slaves of Traginta Duo. He showed me their future if we didn't act, and, okay, I guess the priorities in the cities have shifted now, but the slaves will still be the first to suffer when their food begins to run out. I've seen their agricultural areas. They're not big enough to sustain even the upper classes, let alone anyone else. This is what I was meant to fix, so please, let me finish the job I started.'

The set of her jaw suggested she was about to pull him up on his attitude and remind him he was far from fit, but perhaps she saw something in his expression that told her how much this meant to him.

'All right,' she conceded, 'but I'll only agree to this if they agree to come here to meet with us. You are not fit to go off world yet.'

He threw up his hands, 'That's all I ask.'

'Well, if that's everything, I have some details to arrange. I'll let you know how I get on.'

'Okay. Well, I'd better go get me some of that rest you all seem so determined I should have.' He pushed up from his seat, just as Teyla arrived in the doorway.

'How did I know you would not return straight to your room?' she chided, though her expression as she folded her arms and tried to look annoyed fell far short of the mark.

'Ah, my escort has arrived!' Sheppard quipped.

'Yes, and I intend to make sure you _do_ return to your room this time,' Teyla assured him.

'Thank you, Teyla. I was afraid I was going to have to have him frogmarched to bed,' Elizabeth smirked, swinging in her seat as she sipped her coffee.

With both of them on his case, Sheppard knew there was no point in challenging them. Besides, if he rested today, he'd be ready to take up the mantle of chief negotiator whenever he was called upon. The thought that he was finally on the path to fulfilling the plan the sensory had held for him lifted a little of the weight that had been pressing down on him, a weight he knew would only fully lift if he brought about the changes necessary for the underclasses in the Centum Civis.

* * *

**A/N: And the healing begins, but there's still some work for him to do. Thanks to everyone for your support with this story; we're in the home straight now, but I hope you still enjoy it. I should be posting Chapter 38 tomorrow as it's edited, and then there are two more to go that I'll post when they're ready. :)**


	38. Chapter 38

**A/N: You would not believe the flapping I've had to do to get this chapter up this morning! My computer got infected when I came onto this site, so I have had to clean it down before I could even get to my own work! Still, one system restore from Safe Mode later and I'm back up and running! I hope you enjoy, and thanks for all the reviews. :)**

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**Chapter 38 **

The delegation from Dalmaria had already arrived by the time Sheppard hobbled his way down to the 'gate room. He ran a hand back through his hair and hoped they didn't notice the sheen of perspiration on his face as he welcomed them, trying to regain the breath he'd lost in rushing to get there. Two days had passed since the conversation in Elizabeth's office, and the Dalmarians had finally agreed to come to Atlantis to talk through the implications of their withdrawal from trade with Haraendon. Elizabeth had let Sheppard know the moment the team escorting them through the 'gate had made contact, but he just wasn't capable of speed yet, and hoped their guests would excuse his tardiness.

Elizabeth gave him a knowing and concerned look, then suggested they all moved to the conference room, walking slowly while pointing out different features of the city in view along their route to their awed visitors, while patently giving him time to gather himself before the meeting began.

When they made it to the room, Sheppard spotted his team already waiting there, along with Dr Beckett and Kate Heightmeyer. He faltered, then followed Elizabeth around the table, waiting to see where she sat down and grabbing the seat beside her.

'What are they doing here?' he whispered from the corner of his mouth, dipping his head toward the two doctors.

'Well, we don't know exactly what direction this discussion will take. I thought they might be able to give us some relevant input.'

He glared at her, suspecting they were actually there to keep an eye on him and compile notes on his behaviour. Elizabeth had already suggested, more than once during her visits to see him in the infirmary, that he might benefit from a session on the psychologist's couch, so it was likely this was her way of making sure Heightmeyer got her chance to make an unofficial assessment of his condition.

Before the meeting began in earnest, everyone made their introductions. The three Dalmarians sat together, the gentleman in the middle, Haterash, clearly their leader and a familiar face for Sheppard. He was definitely one of the people he'd ferried to safety on Galragga during the Wraith culling. The two people with him, a woman and a man called Reginat and Alashan, seemed to be there mostly to make up numbers, not speaking at all from the moment they'd arrived, not even introducing themselves, but rather allowing Haterash to do it on their behalf.

'Thank you for joining us here today,' Elizabeth began. 'Actually, we've been hoping for an opportunity to contact you again, although I confess I would have preferred it to be under different circumstances. I assume you understand the purpose of this meeting today?'

'We do, Dr Weir,' Haterash nodded, but Sheppard couldn't help noticing the coldness in his tone. He had to wonder how much persuasion it had taken to get him there.

'Good. So you'll understand the dilemma faced by the peoples of Haraendon since the withdrawal of your food supplies. We'd like to discuss ways we can perhaps get around the issues currently standing in the way of trade, to ensure the peoples of Haraendon do not suffer unnecessarily.'

At that point, Haterash held up his hand stop her. Elizabeth acquiesced, granting him the floor. He stood, clearly in a manner that he meant to offer respect to the Atlantis personnel, and dipped his head. 'We are grateful to be given this opportunity to visit your beautiful city, Dr Weir, and to express our delight to see that Colonel Sheppard is recovering so well from the injuries our colleague witnessed, but I feel I have to differ with you on that point. The peoples of Haraendon inflict suffering as if it is just a fact of life. The lesson they will learn from our withdrawal is, we feel, very necessary.'

He sat down again, and Sheppard glanced Elizabeth's way, seeing her stunned reaction. She quickly gathered herself, and tried to keep the conversation going. 'Well, no one is going to argue that the upper classes have been mistreating people, but they won't be the only ones to suffer if you refuse to reinitiate your trade deal. There are a lot of innocent people on that planet...and what about your people? I understand you need the iron to reinforce your structures against earthquakes...and they supply you with medicine too, yes?' She flicked through some notes she'd made to check her facts. 'Surely you wouldn't want to put your own people at risk for the sake of your principles without at least exploring the options?'

Haterash shifted in his seat, looking mildly uncomfortable at that suggestion. 'Of course I am concerned by what our decision means for our people, and I do appreciate that some innocents may suffer on Haraendon, Dr Weir, but we cannot condone what was witnessed of life in the Centum Civis. To continue to trade with these people would be as good as telling them they can continue to live as they are. My people will not live off the ill-gotten gains of slavery.'

'But not everyone in those cities deserves punishment. Some of them have already suffered every day of their lives. How does heaping more misery on them solve that?' McKay interrupted in his usual brusque manner.

Sheppard cringed and looked Elizabeth's way again, catching the death glare she fired at McKay, who appeared to have no clue why he deserved it. This really was going to be a difficult meeting with the various personalities gathered there all viewing things from their own personal perspective. What they needed to do was get everyone viewing it from the point of view of the slaves, then perhaps they could move this forward.

As if to prove his point, Haterash spoke up then. 'What you fail to acknowledge is the fact that my people have been deceived by the inhabitants of Haraendon for over a century now. We expect high standards of our trading partners, standards we make them aware of from the very start. How are we expected to ever trust the trade of people with such dubious moral standards?'

'It will take time, but trust can be regained,' Teyla offered gently.

'Aw, c'mon. We don't have that kind of time. These people need to put their bruised egos behind them and look at the facts. People are going to die, people who don't deserve it!'

'Rodney...I forgot how busy you are. Isn't there something more...scientific...you should be doing?' Elizabeth asked, her taut expression clearly showing it wasn't a question, but an instruction.

McKay, however, completely missed the thinly veiled message. 'Er...no. I don't think so.'

'Yes, you do, Rodney,' she assured him. 'Remember?'

'Yeah, Rodney,' Sheppard added. 'You remember, you were going to work on your T.A.C.T. project, right?'

His eyes drilled into him, and it finally dawned on Rodney that he was being asked to leave.

'Oh, right...that,' he muttered, gathering up his things and sliding out from his seat. 'Well, if you need me, I'll be in my lab.'

Feeling a dull tension headache kicking off, Sheppard rested his head on his hand, rubbing his forehead. From the corner of his eye, he saw Carson shift in his seat, and when he checked, both he and Heightmeyer were observing him. So, as he'd suspected, they were their more for his benefit than anything else. He immediately straightened up and addressed the meeting.

'Elizabeth, you mind if I add another perspective?'

'Go ahead, Colonel,' Elizabeth nodded, happily deferring to him.

'Okay, firstly, Haterash, I wanna say that I admire your principles on this issue, I really do, and if everyone in the Pegasus Galaxy operated to your standards, we wouldn't even be having this conversation right now. But we all make mistakes. We're all shaped by the wants and needs of our own societies. Your people made a mistake by their own standards when they struck a trade deal with the folks on Haraendon, and the people on that planet made a mistake by most folks' standards when they chose to go down the route of slavery. But we weren't there when these things began so we can't change any of that.'

'The two things are hardly comparable, Colonel Sheppard,' Haterash pointed out.

'No, they're not, but with the greatest respect, none of us can possibly know what happened in the pasts of your two planets...perhaps your predecessors felt the benefits available to your people were worth overlooking any concerns they had.'

Haterash looked alarmed at the comment. 'Are you suggesting our people may have turned a blind eyes because for their own needs?'

'I'm saying there may have been mitigating circumstances for their decision. And I seriously doubt the situation within the cities would have been anywhere near as bad as it is now. Your generosity in supplying them with the surplus of your food has allowed their population to thrive. There may have been much less oppression when this trade deal was first struck. Maybe it wasn't that way at all, we're never likely to know the truth.'

'Perhaps...'Haterash nodded. 'But now our eyes have been truly opened, we cannot consider continuing to support such a world.'

Elizabeth was about to join in, but Sheppard put his hand on her arm and gave her a look that told her he wasn't finished yet. 'Look, sometimes we have to do things we're not comfortable with for the good of others, like when I came out of hiding to rescue you on Galragga. Staying put and staying hidden would have been the easiest thing to do, but it wouldn't have been the right thing to do. Now, I'm asking you to do something you won't find easy to do either. In this situation, you have control of the 'jumper' that will save people, and I'm asking you to steer it through all the bad stuff to do the right thing.'

Haterash held his gaze for a few seconds, before looking at each of his companions. They whispered to each other, their hand gestures quite worryingly animated, while they discussed the points he'd raised.

Elizabeth leaned over his way. 'I'm impressed. At least you've got them thinking.'

'Let's hope they're not thinking what an idiot I am to want to help those folks after what they did to me,' he whispered back, and she smirked, straightening up in her seat again as the Dalmarian huddle broke to address them.

'What you did on Galragga that day, Colonel Sheppard, has marked you as a man to be admired amongst our people, and we do not trust easily. The very fact you're here now arguing the cause of a people who almost took your life shows the depth of the compassion you are capable of. Though even considering this goes against our principles, we have decided to listen to your suggestions and make our final decision once we've done that.'

Sheppard felt his chest loosen immediately. He hadn't even realised how tense he'd been, though he was sure the two doctors sitting nearby had been taking mental notes on his facial expressions and body language. From across the table, Teyla gave him a supportive smile. Ronon, however, was a different story. He chose that point to push his chair back away from the table.

'We should let them all starve. It's the best thing for that place,' he rumbled, striding away out of the door.

Again, Sheppard cringed at the outburst, worried it had set their case back. He really needed to make time to have a proper talk with his friend; they'd been rubbing along not talking much since he'd woken, and there was obviously something on the Satedan's mind.

'We were all imprisoned on Haraendon,' Teyla said by way of an explanation. 'It will take a while for some of us to accept what happened during that time.'

'That is...understandable,' Haterash nodded, thankfully unfazed by the interruption.

Elizabeth took up the mantle again at that point, which Sheppard was quite happy to let her do. She explained how the Dalmarians held a great deal of power in the current situation, power they could use for good on Haraendon because they could employ it as leverage to bring about change.

They listened carefully, when Sheppard joined in again, explaining that their generosity had allowed the populations within the Centum Civis to grow, but that now they faced starvation on a massive scale, adding the fact that the afflicted, complete innocents in the situation, had already felt forced to leave the planet because the food that had once filtered through to them was now gone. Obviously the slaves would be the next to feel the pinch as food stocks diminished, the upper classes keeping what there was for themselves.

The Dalmarians listened intently, and gradually Sheppard watched the full realisation of the influence they held dawn on them.

He leaned forward, meeting Haterash's gaze as earnestly as he could. 'We realise that what we're suggesting places a huge burden of responsibility on you, and if you'll allow us, we'd like to support you through the negotiations. Haraendon is a planet in chaos. If you agree to reinstate the food supplies on the condition that they begin a gradual process of emancipation for the subclasses, they'll hopefully let us back in to help fix the other problems they face, thus removing the need for any other unsuspecting off-worlders suffering the treatment we did.'

Haterash nodded, glancing at the other two members in his party. In the end, the man announced that he would like a little more time to consider his decision, saying he would depart for Dalmaria for now, but if they returned to the planet tomorrow after sunrise, he would deliver his decision then.

Elizabeth made it easier for them, offering to give them a means by which to communicate through the 'gate whenever they had made their choice, an offer they graciously accepted. Teyla picked up the radio they required while everyone else headed to the 'gate room, kindly demonstrating its use when she gave it to Haterash. Then, when the delegation were ready to leave, they escorted them back to the 'gate room and thanked them in anticipation of their decision.

'Well, that went reasonably well,' Elizabeth smiled, as she gazed at the shimmering circle of light.

'Well, the bright side is that if they don't agree, the sterility on Haraendon means they eventually won't need any more food than they can grow for themselves,' Sheppard replied, forcing on a smile.

'That's the bright side?' she asked, arching an eyebrow.

He shrugged. 'It's the only positive I've got right now.'

As the 'gate disconnected, he decided it was time to go hunt down his friend. But when he turned to do that, his brain had other ideas, being a little too slow to keep up with the motion. He staggered, and Carson had to catch him before he fell.

'All right, Colonel. I think that's quite enough excitement for you for one day,' he told him, and when Sheppard tried to assure him he was good, the doctor would have none of it.

'Sorry, son, but I want you up to the infirmary for a check-up. I'm not risking a relapse because of your stubbornness.'

With a sigh, he gave in to the doctor's insistence, allowing Carson to lead him away for tests. He hated being sick, it forced him to think about himself, to think about what he'd been through, instead of doing the things he wanted to do, like pulling his team back together. Ronon would just have to wait for a while, but he'd get to it as soon as he was free again.

Free? He really had to stop thinking in those terms...

oooOOOooo

While Sheppard lay back relaxing on a bed in the infirmary, connected to an ECG, he heard the familiar shuffling gait of Rodney heading his way.

He opened his eyes to find the sheepish scientist rubbing the back of his neck at his bedside. 'I understand the Dalmarians are considering your plan,' he said, plunging his hands into his pockets.

'Yeah...I think we have a good chance of reinstating the trade link.'

'Good thing you enjoy those suicide missions. If you hadn't saved them from the Wraith they wouldn't even have considered listening.'

'If I hadn't saved them, a lot of things might have happened differently.'

'Yes...yes...causality and all that.' Rodney looked around the room as if he didn't really know what to say next. Eventually, his eyes drifted back to Sheppard. 'I...I've never actually apologised for leaving you in –'

Sheppard interrupted him before he could finish. 'Stop right there, McKay. You have nothing to apologise for. And while we're at it, I never thanked you for risking your life to come looking for me outside the city, either.'

'Well, you don't have a monopoly on suicide missions,' he quipped, giving him a crooked smile. But the smile soon faded, and the man became lost in thought.

'Somethin' on your mind?' Sheppard asked.

'I was just thinking it's a pity Bathraen didn't make it. I mean, I know the guy caused the sterility on Haraendon, but he did it out of concern for the slaves. Now he's dead, and if we do manage to pull off this huge change, he'll never know it happened.'

'Yeah...it's a pity...'

'And he saved Teyla's life sending her out to the afflicteds' enclosure. I know he helped Ashnael in the first place, but it was only because Ashnael had worked out what he'd done. He would have bought us all from him if he'd had enough money.'

'Yeah, you've already told me...several times,' Sheppard sighed, feeling bad for the man now, too. Rodney had told him how Bathraen had tried to convince the government of the need for change on Haraendon, a number of times while keeping him company in the infirmary. His death was definitely one of life's great injustices.

Carson joined them then, giving both men a smile. 'Well, Rodney. You've successfully stressed the colonel again,' he quipped, dipping his head toward the EGC reading which had changed substantially since his arrival.

'Oh...sorry.'

'It's all right. I wouldn't have let you in here if I hadn't already finished monitoring him. Well, Colonel, all your statistics are within acceptable parameters, so there's no need to re-admit you, you'll be very happy to hear.'

'Cool,' Sheppard grinned, though the smile soon turned to a grimace when Carson relieved him of the pads on his chest. 'Ow...I think you got skin there, Doc.'

'Sorry, lad,' he chuckled. 'No injury intended.'

'So, Carson,' Rodney piped up, as the doctor packed away the various pieces of equipment he'd used in his examination. 'If Sheppard's pep talk works on the Dalmarians , d'you think you can fix this sterility problem?'

'Hard to say,' the Scot mused, pausing his activities. 'I suppose if we could identify the chemicals used in the first place...'

Rodney began frenetically clicking his fingers. 'Ashnael. He bought the drugs for Bathraen. He might have some kind of record of the transaction.'

Sheppard shuddered at the thought of dealing with the man in any capacity. 'I suspect he's probably going to prove reluctant to help.'

'Well, considering you broke his arms amongst other things, you might be right,' Rodney snorted. 'What the hell did he do to get you that mad at him?'

Sheppard just stared at him, and Carson thankfully took that as his cue to step in. 'I'm sure the colonel would like to get back to his room now, Rodney. Maybe you should run along and tell Elizabeth about that theory of yours.'

As the doctor gently but firmly guided Rodney to the exit, McKay had another idea. 'Oh...wait... Bathraen said he used a drug he'd encountered on another planet during his travels before he was forbidden to leave the city. We could go back through his records if Ashnael won't help...if the government haven't scrapped them all already! We should contact them and make sure they hold onto his stuff!'

'Yes, well, you go tell Elizabeth all about that, too. Colonel Sheppard here is officially off-duty.'

Sheppard began sitting up to put on his shirt, Carson quick to offer assistance when he saw him straining to lift the T-shirt over his head.

'Thanks,' Sheppard muttered, though frustrated he'd felt the need to help him.

'I know this is hard for a man like you, Colonel, but you have to take your time. Don't expect too much too soon. You've been through a hell of an experience. No one expects you to just bounce back fighting fit.'

'I know, but it's my job to keep people safe. I can't do that when I can't even stand for long,' he griped, pushing up to his feet and waiting for his brain to steady itself.

'Small steps, Colonel. Take it easy and I promise you'll get there. You're just not ready for any physical exertion yet.'

Sheppard clapped his hand on the doctor's shoulder and thanked him again, taking some of those small steps toward the door with Carson's request that he go straight back to his room following him out onto the corridor. He acknowledged the comment, but neither agreed nor disagreed. He had something else he really wanted to do first, but it all depended on how elusive his Satedan friend had decided to be.

oooOOOooo

After asking a couple of people about Ronon's whereabouts, Sheppard finally located him in one of the rooms dedicated to physical training.

He opened the door to find Ronon sparring with a young marine, giving the kid a severe workout. He hung back in the doorway, watching the young man defend himself relatively successfully, but having absolutely no opportunity to strike out himself, as Ronon spun around, whirling his weapon and lashing out in various different directions the marine was clearly having trouble keeping track of. Eventually, the assault proved overwhelming, and the marine had his legs swept from under him, Ronon raising his staff, about to bring it down hard.

Sheppard leapt forward, catching Ronon's arm. 'Easy, buddy. You won!'

A moment of shock passed over Ronon's face, and he lowered his arm, leaving Sheppard swaying. He steadied himself against the man mountain beside him. 'Okay, kid. Workout's over,' he told the relieved looking marine lying on his back in front of them.

'Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir,' he panted, staggering to his feet and snatching up his towel before departing.

Ronon continued to support Sheppard until he was able to straighten up and stand unaided. Catching hold of Ronon's arm had wrenched him in various places, reminding him that though he was on his feet, he was not "fighting fit" as Carson had put it.

'Are you sure you should be sparring?' he asked his friend as Ronon tentatively let go of him. You only had surgery a week before I did.'

The Satedan shrugged his huge shoulders. 'Beckett said I was recovering well.'

'Well, that's good to hear. He says I'm recovering well, too, but I don't think that means I'm fit to go beating the crap out of unsuspecting marines. What the hell was all that about anyway?'

Again, Ronon shrugged. 'We were sparring.'

'You and I both know there was more going on there than just sparring,' Sheppard corrected. His friend looked a little ashamed, which really wasn't the effect he'd been hoping for. 'Come over here and sit down a while,' he suggested, gesturing to the windowsill where Ronon's towel lay waiting to be used.

'I should get a shower.'

'The shower can wait!' Sheppard insisted, his words coming out more forcefully than he'd intended. 'C'mon, buddy. We've barely spoken since I woke up just over a week ago. Humour me.'

'I visited you in the infirmary.'

'Yeah...twice. And on each occasion you sat in virtual silence for ten minutes before telling me you needed to be somewhere else.'

Ronon gave him a long look, then headed to the windowsill and towelled off while Sheppard slowly sat himself down and leaned back against the wall for support. Eventually, Ronon quit stalling and sat down with him.

'So, what d'you wanna talk about?' Ronon asked him, leaning forward, hands on knees, while he regained his breath.

'I dunno...anything really. Perhaps we could start with what's on your mind.'

The Satedan frowned, staring back at him. 'What d'you mean?'

'Well, much as I'll admit you're a tough trainer, you don't normally half-kill your sparring partners.'

'I...' Ronon paused, then looked away to the patterned floor. 'I needed to prove I could win.'

Sheppard nodded, and sighed, deciding how best to word his next question. 'Because you didn't win against Ashnael?'

'The little creep restrained me!' Ronon rumbled, on his feet now and clenching his hands in anger he presumably still needed to release.

'Yeah...I know...he did the same thing to me,' Sheppard told him, and Ronon's eyes briefly met his before heading to the floor again. He dropped back down onto the sill, his whole body sagging.

'Is he the reason why you think we should let everyone on that planet starve?' Sheppard asked, gauging his reaction.

'Him...and that Tranaedan guy...and that freaky doctor...'

'But what about the boys working in Ashnael's home? You think they should starve?'

'Course not. I was just...'

'Angry?'

The Satedan looked up at him again at last. 'You nearly died.'

'And that's why you're so angry?'

'Isn't that reason enough?'

Sheppard sighed, and smiled. He'd known this would be a drawn-out process, but he'd hoped Ronon would trust him enough to open up for once in his life. 'Yeah. I guess it is. I was just worried there might be something else.'

'Like what?'

'Well...' His voice petered out and he just hoped the pained and slightly disgusted expression he couldn't squash might communicate his fears.

'Didn't happen.'

Sheppard searched his face for signs he was hiding something, but for the first time, Ronon held his gaze without wavering. He hoped that meant he was telling the truth, and not just determined the truth should never come out.

'What about you?'

The Satedan's question awoke a lot of unpleasant feelings and memories, and Sheppard fought to keep his own reaction to that question under control. He suspected he wasn't as convincing as Ronon had been. 'I don't think I'm Ashnael's type,' he lied, chewing his lip before realising he was doing it and stopping himself. 'Look, it's over Ronon. You have nothing to feel bad about. In a fair fight, you would have beaten Ashnael hands down, you know that. Don't let him get to you.'

'And what about what they all did to you? You expect me to let that go, too?'

'Yeah,' Sheppard nodded. 'Yeah, I do.'

'Don't know if I can do that.'

Sheppard watched his friend's anger mounting again, feeling useless. He'd hoped getting him to talk would help, but it seemed to have just made matters worse. 'Maybe you should think about talking to Heightmeyer,' he suggested.

The murderous glare the Satedan threw him told Sheppard how his friend felt about that.

'Or not,' he conceded, silence descending as Ronon looked away again. As angry as this was all making the man, Sheppard knew he couldn't just let his friend go without making one final offer. 'Okay, if not Heightmeyer, then talk to me.'

'You've got enough going on –'

'Not so much that I can't make time for you,' he insisted. Then he stood up, stretching out his aching joints as carefully as he could. 'Anyway, I don't know about you, but I'm starving. How about you go get that shower, then we'll head to the mess and see what they've got to offer?'

Though Ronon's jaw was still rigid with anger, he nodded. 'Sure, why not?'

Ronon stalked away then, leaving Sheppard behind him, pondering their conversation. He sighed, gazing out of the window at the sun over the ocean, wishing he could just snatch up his board and go surf all his cares away. Haraendon had had a bigger effect on them all than any one of them really wanted to admit. But hopefully time would prove to be the healer everyone insisted it was, and his team would be just as it was before the place had torn them apart.

Sheppard started his walk to the mess, figuring it might take him until Ronon was showered to even get there at his current speeds, but his body and mind had a very different idea of which way he was headed.

His vision swam and his body felt suddenly cold, and although he reached out a hand to steady himself against the wall, it wasn't enough to compensate for his sudden loss of balance. His body hit the floor and a second or two later his brain shut down, leaving him just enough time to think about how much trouble he would be in for not going straight to his room...

'Here he is. Take it easy, Colonel. You're back with us now.'

That was Carson's voice cutting through the haze as he began to blink the room in to view. Feeling guilty, Sheppard immediately apologised. 'I was on my way back to my room...I just had to –'

'Don't worry about it, Colonel. I never actually expected you to go back to your room anyway. Ronon tells me you intervened in his training session.'

'I just thought his opponent had taken enough punishment,' he explained, hoping it would make the doctor feel more sympathetic.

It didn't work. 'And which part of no physical exertion did you not understand?' Carson asked, fixing him with an icy glare from his bright blue eyes. 'This isn't a game; you're risking your health. Do you have any pain in your neck or back at all?'

'No more than usual,' he replied as honestly as he could.

'Can you move your fingers for me?'

He did as he was told, wriggling all ten of his digits.

'And your feet,'

He smacked the toes of his boots together, having no difficulty moving them.

Beyond Carson, Ronon stood with hunched shoulders, looking worried. 'Did you tell him I was here?' he asked the Satedan.

Ronon nodded.

'Traitor,' Sheppard quipped, throwing him a crooked smile.

His friend's body language immediately relaxed, and Sheppard felt better for him.

'Right, now it's twenty-four hours of observation for you, sonny,' Carson announced, gesturing for Marie to push the gurney she was guiding up next to him. 'I trust you'll follow my instructions to the letter this time since I have the power to extend that period if I see fit?'

'Yes, Doc,' Sheppard conceded, curling his lip as he looked at the gurney.

'And you will ride all the way to the infirmary on the gurney without complaint?' Carson pressed, folding his arm and glaring over them at him.

'Sure...no problem,' he lied, as Ronon helped him up onto it.

'We'll see, shall we?' the doctor smirked, taking the other end of the gurney and beginning to push as Marie pulled it from the room.

Ronon walked alongside him, glancing his way from time to time as if checking he hadn't passed out again. 'You know, you don't have to come with me,' he told his friend, giving him an excuse to leave. 'I bet you didn't get that meal we were gonna have together.'

'Not yet...but I figure you could use the company more than I need the food right now,' he said, managing the closest thing to a smile Sheppard had seen on his face for days.

'Yeah...I guess I could,' he replied, laying his head back and relaxing. Maybe this twenty-four hours in the infirmary wasn't going to be such a bad thing, after all.


	39. Chapter 39

**Chapter 39 **

_Sheppard followed Vandaer into the hangar, shooting him with Ronon's gun when the man refused to get out of his way. He regretted having to do it, but it wouldn't leave any lasting effects and he simply didn't have time to reason with the guy._

_He ran aboard the jumper, testing systems to see what he had, pleased to find that nothing else had died during his absence. Then a noise startled him, and he turned, snatching up the gun he'd tossed onto the dash and aiming it out in front of him. There was nothing there, and, putting it down to his sickness and an unhealthy dose of paranoia he put the gun down again and got back to prepping the ship for flight._

_Another noise captured his attention, a thumping groaning sound, and this time he knew he hadn't imagined it. Grabbing his gun, he headed toward the back of the jumper, edging his way out into the hangar, all the time the thumping getting louder. Heart pounding like a jackhammer, he slithering his way around the jumper, pressing close to it for both support and cover, realising the noises were coming from the big red craft he knew to be enclosing one of his predecessors._

_Though he really didn't want to do it, he felt a nightmarish compulsion to approach the vehicle. He stepped up to the door, gun aimed, fearing what he might find. Activating the door, he stumbled back as Faraenal slumped out toward him, secured by the belt and hoses around and through him._

_He twisted his withered face in Sheppard's direction, his eyes briefly rolling forward to focus on him. 'Do not forget us,' he rasped, then he threw back his head and screamed in pure agony, the sound almost bursting Sheppard's eardrums._

Sheppard woke to the sight of his room with the pitiful pilot's screams still ringing in his ears. He rolled out of bed and stumbled into his bathroom, running cold water into his cupped hands and splashing it onto his sweaty face, refreshed by its instant cooling relief. He dragged off his saturated T-shirt and looked at himself in the mirror, running his fingers over the Wraith feeding scar still faintly visibly in the centre of his chest. For a second or two, he envisaged himself as the withered old man that Wraith had reduced him to, something he hadn't actually thought about for a few weeks now, he'd been too preoccupied with other things. The image reminded him of Faraenal, the very thing Tranaedan had tried to reduce him to, a withered husk barely clinging to life.

Most of the bruises and scarring from Tranaedan's beating, and the extra damage done by Ashnael, had faded now, still visible, but not nearly as painful as his surgery sites. That was taking some getting over, and the sleepless nights his nightmares often caused him were definitely not helping with that. He yawned and scratched at his hair, slouching his way back over to his bed and dropping onto it, determined to get some more sleep. It was morning now, but he had a little time before he needed to report to Carson for his daily check-up and treatment. Unfortunately, each time he closed his eyes he saw either Faraenal or Manstaen, as if his subconscious mind was putting him on some kind of guilt trip because he'd survived relatively unscathed when they hadn't.

_Relatively unscathed?_ He huffed out a bitter laugh. That was a joke. He'd barely escaped with his life and had thought of nothing but his tortures since he'd woken up in the infirmary that first time. Not really unscathed, then.

He closed his eyes again, draping his arm across his face and trying to think of something else – something he liked. He thought about surfing, and Ferris Wheels, and the cute brunette from botany, but once again his mind wandered back to the two former pilots. And then he suddenly knew why. Though Elizabeth had told him Tranaedan's slaves had been re-homed, he'd never enquired about whether they'd found Manstaen and Faraenal. How could he have forgotten them?

He was up again in a flash dragging on his clothes at a speed that made his body scream in protest. And then he was running, bolting for the jumper bay, hoping to catch Elizabeth and her entourage before she left and praying that he didn't run into Carson en route. The negotiations had been underway for five days now, and he hadn't been allowed to attend a single session, not even after Carson had discharged him...again. Not that he minded too much. Elizabeth was far better at that bureaucratic manoeuvring than he was anyway, and the Dalmarians seemed to trust her now he'd won them over for her.

When he got there, the jumper was departing through the gate. He could see it through the opening in the floor, just as it closed on the scene.

'Dammit,' he hissed, slamming his hand on the rail he was leaning on. He fought back the urge to vomit the exertion of his rapid trip to the jumper bay had caused, regaining his breath and deciding what to do next. He'd hoped to catch a ride with Elizabeth and Lorne's team so they could gain permission to search Tranaedan's house if they needed to while attending the negotiations. Well, he still needed to get there. He didn't have a chance of getting a full night's sleep until he had.

He contacted the control room, 'Control, this is Sheppard. Dial up Dalmaria. I need to speak to Elizabeth.'

'_Yes, Sir,'_ he heard Chuck respond. Then a minute later, he added, 'I've opened a channel, Sir.'

'Elizabeth, this is Sheppard.'

'_John...Is there a problem?' _she asked, her tone clipped with concern.

'Not exactly. But I may need to come to the negotiations with you today.'

There was a distinct pause before she answered. _'May I ask why?'_

'I think we need to search the Tranaedan household.'

Again, there was another pause_. 'What would we be searching for?'_

He knew she wasn't going to like it, but this was important. They'd freed the living slaves, but there were still two monuments to Tranaedan's cruelty hidden in that house, and one of them could still be made to suffer. That was what his subconscious had really been trying to tell him. 'He still has something in his house that shouldn't be there.'

'_Well, I need more information than that if you want me to make this call. And you know you're not fit to travel off-world yet...'_

'It's just talking, Elizabeth –'

'_And facing up to the man who almost killed you,' _she pointed out.

'Well, that just goes with the territory...'

'_Not when you're unfit, it doesn't.'_

'I'm not unfit...I'm just not _mission_ fit. This is different.'

'_Carson, this is Elizabeth.'_

Sheppard cringed as Elizabeth brought a third party into their conversation. _'Elizabeth?'_ he heard Carson reply. _'I thought you were on your way to the negotiations.'_

'_I am, but I need your medical opinion on something. Is Colonel Sheppard fit to attend a search of Magister Tranaedan's house?'_

'_No he bloody well isn't!' _the Scot gasped_. 'Why're you asking?' _

'_Good question. Why am I asking, John?'_

'_Colonel Sheppard? After everything I've said to you about taking things slowly!'_ Carson blustered.

Sheppard leaned over the rail and swiped a hand down over his face, sighing. 'I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important.'

'_Well it can be important another day, because you're not going anywhere, lad!'_

'This can't wait! It's a matter of life or death...well, more living death,' he corrected. Then he took a deep breath and started again. 'Elizabeth, I don't think they got all the slaves out of the Tranaedan house.'

'_Well, there were three and I've been told they were all assigned to different households...'_

'But there are still two in there...one's dead, and the other,' he swallowed hard, then forced himself to say it. 'The other one was assimilated into one of Tranaedan's ships...like he tried to do to me.'

'_Bloody hell!'_ he heard Carson breathe.

'_All right, John,'_ Elizabeth said, her tone now taking on a more serious edge. _'Tell us where they are and we'll go find them.'_

'No!' He didn't know why he'd said that. Letting someone else do this would be the easiest option. But no, something inside him knew that part of his recovery, part of his putting the nightmares behind him was reliant on doing this himself. 'Elizabeth...please...I'll do whatever you say from now on...I'll jump through whatever hoops you want me to jump through, but I really need to do this.'

Once again, she paused before she answered. Then, she agreed. _'All right, John. You and a team of marines can head through to Haraendon and meet us at the Uno city gates. We'll be there as soon as we've picked up the Dalmarian delegation. But understand I need to complete the negotiations today before we even think about raising this issue with the first minister, so please let me do that.'_

'Sure, whatever you say,' he grinned, even though she couldn't see him.

'_Oh, and no flying, John. Get someone else to do that...and no jumping through hoops, either. I'm told that's not good post-surgery.'_

'Thanks, Elizabeth,' he called, about to contact Harding and ask him to prep his team.

'_Colonel, I assume you have no problem with me coming along, too?'_ he heard Carson ask through his earpiece.

He rolled his eyes, imagining the doctor trying to check his pulse or blood pressure every time he so much as sneezed, then realised he might actually need him for what lay ahead. 'Sure you can come...but I might make you work for it.'

'_I hope not,'_ Carson snorted, clearly missing his meaning.

Sheppard didn't have time to explain himself, so just told him to get his kit and head for the jumper bay, before requesting a team to fly him to Haraendon.

oooOOOooo

In the end, Sheppard found himself accompanied by not only Harding's team and Carson, but the rest of his own team too, not one of them willing to let him go back to that planet without their moral support.

Ronon and Rodney were politely asked to remain with Harding's team while the negotiations took place, their previous performance in the talks with the Dalmarians on Atlantis still clearly vivid in Elizabeth's memory.

Sheppard got a surprisingly warm welcome from both parties. The Dalmarian's he'd expected to be pleased to see him as he gathered they had the whole understated hero-worship thing going for him since he'd saved their leader, but the warm handshake and huge smile he'd been gifted by First Minister Thalaezin had come as somewhat of a surprise. Then, Elizabeth had whispered that she'd told Thalaezin he was the one who had talked the Dalmarians into the negotiations, and suddenly it all made sense; much as the process of emancipating their slaves and the reintegration of the afflicted into their community was likely to be a painful process for them, it was better than the alternative of slow starvation.

The negotiations were, as Elizabeth's plea had suggested, at a very delicate stage, she and the Dalmarians tabling various requirements, and the Haraendon government desperately trying to claw back some rights for the upper classes. They had agreed to cease and desist all activities on their enforced breeding programme, and had released the participants to the care of the Atlantis medical team and Dr Heightmeyer. A building had been set aside to act as a safe shelter for them until their level of trauma could be assessed. It was hoped that, with the right care, most of them could return to some normality. The emancipation of the slaves, a complex process reliant on a huge change in thinking from all parties, was to begin with the removal of their slave bands and an amnesty of all devices used to control them to this point. The next stage of offering paid employment rather than forcing them to work would come in time.

As Sheppard listened to the list of various implements and punishments to be outlawed, he battled with his own memories of mistreatment, glad that, in theory, slaves wouldn't face that kind of restraining and torture again. Of course, there were many ways to oppress people, and it would take a long time to completely change the mindset of people used to violently controlling their workers. Hopefully, with guidance, they would manage this, although the queasy looks being continually exchanged between the government officials each time a request was set forward made him realise this was not going to be an easy transition for anyone. The return of the afflicted to their home world was clearly a long way off, but at least his intervention had brought an end to the steady decline of Haraendon's society into complete and utter chaos. His role had been to act as the catalyst to force into effect the desired chain of events. It seemed he'd been successful, even if it had almost cost him his life to do it.

Eventually, after several breaks and displays of just how hospitable the government of Haraendon could be when properly motivated, Elizabeth wound the talks down for the day. They had made some considerable progress, all be it just words and promises right now, but that was more than they'd ever achieved before, a fact that gave Sheppard hope as he gazed out of the window at the lilac and orange hues of the sunset out above the city walls.

With a long trip to Traginta Duo ahead of them, Elizabeth sent Harding and his team back through the 'gate with the Dalmarian delegation. There was no need for them to be part of what was about to go down, and when she updated First Minister Thalaezin on Sheppard's concerns, he was clearly relieved they had been tactful enough not to mention it in front of their other guests.

And so Sheppard took a seat beside Major Lorne, and the Lanteans, escorted by a government transport, made their way to Traginta Duo.

Lorne kept the atmosphere on board the jumper as light as he could, regaling Sheppard with tales of a few off world missions the teams had undergone recently that had not gone so well, though thankfully in far funnier ways than Sheppard's own shockingly awful experiences. Though Lorne's tales of weird animals and boggy landscapes would normally have been entertaining, this evening he barely heard what his colleague said, smiling in what he hoped were the right places, but his mind on other things. This had seemed like such a good idea when he'd thought about it this morning, his dreams telling him this was a mission he had to do, but now, now his chest was tight and his head spinning. He was panicking...he didn't do panicking.

A hand slapped down on his shoulder. 'How're you holding up there, Colonel?' Carson asked him, his blue eyes holding his and telling him he could see his exhaustion and discomfort.

'I'm...' He stopped short of saying good, because if he'd learned one thing over the years he and Carson had worked together, it was that the good doctor could smell bullshit at a hundred paces. 'I'm looking forward to getting back to Atlantis,' he confessed, and the doctor seemed pleased he'd been that honest with him.

'Aye, I bet you are, lad,' he smiled kindly. 'It's been a tiring day.'

The expression on his face as he returned to his seat told Sheppard he understood what he felt was more than fatigue, but that he wasn't going to make an issue of it unless he did. He obviously realised this was important to him, but wanted him to know he was keeping an eye on him and was ready to step in if he thought it necessary.

Sheppard glanced back over his shoulder, and although Rodney was lost in studying data from the jumper's systems, Ronon, Teyla and Elizabeth all looked worried. He suspected their concern was for him rather than at the mission they were undertaking, but no one wanted to express that worry under the circumstances. He tossed them all a casual smile, looking back out the windshield before they could see his struggle to hold it. He hated being a passenger, even to a gifted pilot like Lorne. Flying meant everything to him, and when he couldn't do it, it felt like a physical impairment, as if he'd had his wings amputated. At a time like this, that anxiety on top of everything else was almost too much to bear. But bear it he did. It wasn't as if he had a choice.

Eventually, after a thankfully uneventful flight, they made it to the city gates. They went through the tedious decontamination procedure, even though they knew it was pointless, because the government of Haraendon were being asked to change so much already, it seemed petty to demand they drop the pretence. Maybe in time they would be confident enough to do it, once the afflicted were accepted as part of their society again.

Once they were back aboard, feeling windswept but certainly enlivened after their long flight, Lorne set them on a course for the Tranaedan household. Pulling up to those huge iron gates brought back so many unwanted memories of his final visit to that building Sheppard felt a tremble set in throughout his body, one he hoped wasn't obvious to anyone else. He sincerely hoped this was the last time he would ever set foot across this threshold so he could consign the place to the dark and murky depths of his memory where all the experiences he would rather forget lurked.

Lorne hung back behind the government vehicle and let them announce their visit. Sheppard saw him glance his way from the corner of his eye, but really wasn't in the mood for talk, so just stared out of the windshield and watched as the gates opened to let them in.

Though he supposed he should have realised it would happen, he still felt his stomach lurch at the sight of Tranaedan himself opening his now repaired doorway. With no slaves in the house any more, Sheppard supposed there were a lot of things the once grand man was now having to do for himself.

He followed everyone else out of the jumper, silently accepting Lorne's offer to watch their six, an offer made through body language, rather than words. Tranaedan was already complaining loudly about the intrusion before he even made it out the back of the jumper, but the sight of him soon silenced the man. Sheppard pulled himself up to his full height and walked past him with all the confidence he could muster, staring him down as he passed him and walked through into the hallway. Tranaedan barely knew where to look.

Once everyone was inside, Tranaedan closed the doors and demanded, 'So what crime am I accused of now that you think it necessary to impose yourselves on me once more, First Minister? I had rather hoped never to see these people again.'

Sheppard's eyes wandered along that long passageway, noticing dust and grime on the floors and various things dropped onto the small metal hall tables that had never been there when he'd served in the place. Standards were clearly slipping in the Tranaedan household. Apparently, the magister wasn't much good at housekeeping.

'Colonel Sheppard believes you are still hiding secrets in your house, Magister. Perhaps I should let him explain why we're here,' Thalaezin replied, deferring to Sheppard a little too happily for his liking. The politician was clearly still afraid of Tranaedan, and while people feared him, the man still had too much power.

So Sheppard stepped up to the mark, squaring up to the huge man who had almost broken him beyond repair. 'You were supposed to hand over all your slaves. I think you know as well as I do that you didn't do that.'

The colour drained from Tranaedan's face as he realised what they were there to do. His eyes drifted to the two marines carrying body bags. 'I was told to hand over the slaves serving in my household. I did that,' he asserted, though he swallowed audibly, struggling to maintain his nerve.

'Not quite. Because Faraenal is effectively still alive, isn't he?' Sheppard said, fixing him with a hard stare. 'I imagine you've been making use of him lately since you have no other pilot to serve you.'

Eventually, Tranaedan looked away, too ashamed to hold his gaze. 'Do what you have to. You've already taken everything that mattered to me – why not take them, too. Do it and then get out of my home.'

Sheppard was surprised by his response since he'd expected more resistance, but turned to the others there and ascertained that they were ready to follow him. He led the way to the main staircase because there were too many of them to fit into the elevator, and showed them the way to the transport hangar. He stood aside when they arrived there, giving Tranaedan room to get to the door and open it for them, then he headed straight for that big red ship, the wires and hoses feeding into the craft still present and telling him that Tranaedan hadn't released the poor pilot from his duties.

'Open it,' he snapped at the man, but Tranaedan hung back, apparently now reticent.

'This is nothing to do with you and your people. This was a private issue and one for which I dealt out an appropriate punishment.'

Sheppard cocked his head, staring at him as the man seemed to continually shrink before him now he was there in a more powerful role. 'You still believe that even after what you know about your wife? She made him do it...just like she made Manstaen do it.'

The man's face dropped. He'd clearly never considered that his wife had used her influence that way. Having been besotted with her himself, he'd simply imagined those two men felt the same. He opened the craft up and stepped back. 'Take him...Help him...'

The smell hit everyone gathered there as soon as the door opened, grown men used to scenes of devastation were forced to back up and battle their retching. Behind him, Sheppard heard Rodney fretting and gibbering, his nerves and disgust forcing his mouth into overdrive. In contrast, both Elizabeth and Teyla covered their mouths, stunned into silence and defending themselves from the odour.

'Carson?'

Sheppard looked back over his shoulder at the doctor, who was also apparently rendered both speechless and motionless.

It took a second or two for it to register that Sheppard had addressed him. 'Of course,' he breathed, rushing forward with his kit to the man's side. He reached in to try to remove the man's helmet, struggling not to be sick as flesh tore beneath his fingers. 'Oh, dear Lord. What have you done to the poor bugger?'

Tranaedan didn't answer him.

Giving up on removing the helmet, he felt for a pulse on Faraenal's ragged neck. 'There's a pulse; it's barely there, but he's alive.'

'Oh my God!' Elizabeth gasped, forced to turn away.

Tranaedan, too, now turned his back and stood aside, the slump of his shoulders telling Sheppard that he finally realised the gravity of what he'd done to an innocent man. Carson pulled out a scanner and ran it over the motionless figure in the pilot seat, taking readings and interpreting them for everyone gathered there. 'There are massive areas of necrotising skin and his internal organs have all sustained a huge amount of damage, both from the initial surgery and from whatever drugs are being used to keep him alive. There's nothing I can do for him...if we take him off the machine he'll die.'

Sheppard nodded, struggling to keep his whirling emotions in check. This could have been him, assimilated into the jumper, hidden away somewhere in this state of living death and damaged beyond repair by the time anyone had found him. Death would be a release for the poor, hapless bastard.

'We need to disconnect him,' he said, an enforced flatness in his tone that caught Ronon's attention.

'I'll do it,' he immediately offered, but Sheppard realised now, after what he'd been through himself, taking the step to end the man's life was something he needed to do himself.

'It's okay, buddy. I know what to do.'

He bent down to the panel in the floor, seeing the various connections and switches. He knew which one actually restocked all the various medications and other liquids being fed into Faraenal, so assumed the other switch was to turn the whole thing off. He took a deep breath and flipped it, the lights within the alcove all dying.

Carson pressed his fingers to the pulse in Faraenal's neck, and a few minutes later announced, 'He's gone.'

Sheppard gestured to one of the marines carrying the body bags and he stepped forward, unravelling it and laying it on the floor, ready to receive Faraenal's body.

Carson began to disconnect the various hoses and wires from the dead pilot's corpse, calling for assistance to shift the man once he was disconnected from the ship. When Sheppard stepped forward he threw him a look he recognised as being, 'No way!', so he backed off and let the other do the work. It proved difficult, his body so fragile the skin split beneath their hands, his clothes seemingly holding him together. As a result, they couldn't lay him out as delicately as they would have liked, practically dropping him into the bag and tucking his limbs in as best they could, but at least once he was sealed away they could handle him more easily.

Next they headed up to the gallery, and once again Tranaedan hung back shame-faced as the alcove that had formed Manstaen's final resting place was revealed. The marines set to work with the cutting equipment Sheppard had ordered brought on the trip, and cut all the metal skewers propping up the young man's remains, supporting him as the final two were cut and the body slipped from its pedestal. Without fear that removing the spikes would do him any harm, they were pulled free of his body so they could fit his decomposing limbs into the body bag.

'What will you do with them?' Tranaedan asked quietly, barely able to look as the body bag was zipped shut over the evidence of his psychotic jealousy.

'I hardly think that's any of your business,' Sheppard told him. 'But, since you ask, I'm going to make sure these two men get a proper burial...something you denied them.'

'Fine...do that. Just get them out of here and leave me alone,' the magister ordered.

Once again, Sheppard got the impression he was being too compliant – that he was trying to get rid of them – and although he supposed that might just be down to the fact he hated them being in his home and pulling rank, something inside him, that gut instinct he thought he'd lost, told him there was more to it than that. Tranaedan was hiding something.

As the second body was picked up and carried carefully from the room, Sheppard sent the marines bearing them down in the elevator, while the rest of them took the longer route down. He watched Tranaedan the whole time, the man taking a handkerchief from his pocket and swiping it across his forehead and the back of his neck. Classic signs of anxiety, Sheppard realised, staying just behind him.

At the bottom of the stairs they met up with the marines again and Tranaedan began to hurry them along toward the front door.

But something told Sheppard to stop, a thought...or maybe a voice as light as a zephyr told him to check the rooms around them. All of the doors were pulled shut, hiding the interiors of the drawing room, dining room and library, all near where they were standing.

From the corner of his eye he thought he saw movement, a phantom almost like those of the Wraith passing through the door of the library. It had to be the sensory...he wanted him to see something.

'That's your library, right? You know...I always enjoy a good book,' he quipped, taking hold of the door handle. Mind if I take a look?'

Tranaedan pushed him back, setting him stumbling. Teyla steadied him while Ronon immediately pinned the man to the door with his forearm.

'You don't touch him again, understand?' he rumbled.

Tranaedan's eyes bulged, and he tried to nod, though Ronon hadn't left him much room to do it.

'It's okay, Ronon. I think he gets it,' Elizabeth called to him, an instruction for him to stand down. Thankfully, after a moment of hesitation, Ronon let him go.

'Please...just go. Don't you think you've caused enough trouble for me already?' he asked, looking like a broken man.

'Er, is that a serious question?' Rodney snorted. 'Do you want me to list the things we all went through because of people like you?'

Sheppard put up his hand to silence Rodney before he got on a roll. 'What's in the library?' he asked.

'My books, of course,' the man laughed anxiously. 'What else?'

Unfortunately, at that precise moment, they all heard movement from within the room, proving Sheppard's suspicions that he was hiding something behind that door.

'Major.'

That was all the instruction Lorne needed. The bodies were set down and he stepped forward with his men to check the room out on his SO's behalf. Garelli opened the door while he and the others stepped inside. It took a few more seconds before Sheppard heard him say, 'We've found something, Sir.'

Prepping his P-90, Sheppard headed in, finding Lorne and Reynolds standing over a patch of floor, guns aimed. 'We almost didn't see it under the desk, but Reynolds spotted that tiny slot. We figure that key card Tranaedan used on the hangar door would fit in it perfectly.'

Sheppard looked down at it, nodding. It was just like the almost invisible key slot that opened the doorway down to the sensory's cell. 'Open that,' he ordered Tranaedan.

The magister turned to the first minister, clearly exasperated and panicking about whatever he was concealing. 'Am I really expected to put up with this treatment in my own home?'

'These people have worked tirelessly to ensure we still have enough food to survive, despite everything we did to them...they even plan to help us solve our medical problems. I think we can allow them a look in your cellar,' Thalaezin told him, at last showing some backbone.

His face turning puce with anger, Tranaedan pushed through the gathered troops and bent down to slot his coded card into the locking mechanism, then the hatch slid back.

'Show yourself!' Lorne bellowed, to be sure whoever was down there could hear him.

Someone obviously came into view because in the next moment he was instructing them to climb out.

As soon as he saw the top of the fair head through the opening, Sheppard knew exactly who was coming out of that hiding place and so did Ronon. Sheppard felt his friend tense beside him, and immediately positioned himself in front of the Satedan to stop him from lunging for the man.

Once he was back on their level, Ashnael's eyes swept the room, coming to rest on the two of them. 'John...Ronon. I have to confess you were the last two people I expected to see here.'

Sheppard could still see the faint marks from their last encounter on the man's face, and one of his arms appeared to be pinned, while the other was encased in a hard cast. It gave him a great sense of satisfaction to know the man was still feeling the effects of their fight. 'That's Lieutenant Colonel Sheppard,' he drawled, narrowing his eyes. 'And I was about to say the same thing to you.'

'You look...very well,' Ashnael smiled, his eyes wandering all over them both. Sheppard's skin immediately started crawling, and he heard Ronon growl behind him. He couldn't help but be seriously impressed that he'd managed not to make it physical so far.

'Well...I wish I could say the same thing,' he smirked, hoping Ashnael still hurt as much as he did.

'I suppose I owe you some level of thanks, John,' Ashnael chirped, heading straight toward him while Sheppard forced his back into Ronon and struggled to hold him off. Several weapons were suddenly aimed the slave trader's way, but Sheppard signalled for his men and Ronon to back off, Carson and Teyla stepping up to help Sheppard keep the huge man at bay. 'You spared my life,' Ashnael continued, seemingly amused by the threat they thought he posed, 'which is more than I would have done for you. I suppose that makes you a better man than I, after all.'

'Actually,' Sheppard announced, 'Dezrin was a better man than the both of us. He's the reason you're alive today. If it'd been up to me, I'd have taken your "weapon" and fed it to you.'

Ashnael's smile slipped from his face to the chorus of chokes and stifled laughs Sheppard's colleagues battled to control.

'Anyway, much as I'm enjoying this little "catch up", you still haven't explained why you were hiding in Tranaedan's house. I didn't think you two would be all that friendly right now.'

The man's eyes flicked to Tranaedan, an exchange Sheppard noted, but didn't comment on. 'Magister Tranaedan wished to discuss compensation for the loss of the two of you...so you see it's rather ironic that you should turn up right now.'

Yes, Haraendon did seem to deal out more than its fair share of that old irony thing, Sheppard mused.

'Compensation, huh?' Elizabeth interjected. 'My understanding was that you charged a lot for my people. Sounds like an expensive process for someone who was just put out of business.'

Ashnael stared at her as if she was some lower class of human being. 'I'm sorry. What point are you trying to make?'

'Only that I was led to believe you were the kind of man who values money above almost everything. You seem quite jovial about parting with such a huge amount of money.'

Again, Sheppard saw Ashnael's eyes dart Tranaedan's way. Elizabeth was onto something. She had Ashnael on the back foot.

'Well, I wasn't going to fully reimburse him. His wife deceived the two of us, but I'm sure we can come to some mutually agreeable arrangement.'

'What kind of arrangement?' Sheppard demanded, adding to the pressure. 'This wouldn't involve finding him more slaves would it? I mean, otherwise there would've been no need to try and hide the fact you were here, right?'

A rush of colour flushed Ashnael's cheeks. Sheppard could see him thinking, his mind racing for an excuse. He instinctively knew he was right. These two had been discussing slaves. Tranaedan was banned from having them, and Ashnael was the only one bent enough to get them for him even though he'd had his licence to trade revoked. The two were in cahoots because Tranaedan felt Ashnael owed him something, and the weasel wanted to be back in the influential man's favour.

'He forced me to come here!' Ashnael suddenly blurted out. 'He told me he would hurt me if I didn't find him new staff.'

'He lies,' Tranaedan interrupted. 'It was his suggestion to repay me with more slaves rather than money. He could see I was struggling to maintain the house without my staff.'

'My heart bleeds for you both,' Sheppard sneered, then he addressed Ashnael. 'Why didn't you just tell the authorities he'd threatened you?'

Ashnael snorted out a laugh at that. 'The authorities aren't entirely sympathetic to my plight since you turned them all against me, _John_.'

Ronon leapt for him, slamming him against the wall. 'He said to call him "Lieutenant Colonel Sheppard".'

Sheppard, Lorne and a couple of other marines had to pull him off and free Ashnael from his grip. 'Leave it, Ronon. He isn't worth it,' Sheppard ordered.

It took a few more seconds for his instruction to register, but Ronon eventually relaxed and allowed himself to be pushed back. Teyla took hold of his arm and gave him a warning, yet understanding look. Hoping her gentle influence would control him better than they had, Sheppard returned his attention to the matter at hand.

'First Minister, I take it you'd like to handle this matter from here on?'

'I certainly would. Take them into custody,' he ordered his officers, both Ashnael and Tranaedan looking utterly devastated.

'You can't do this to me...I'll have your job for this!' Tranaedan raged, as metal cuffs were snapped onto his wrists and magnetise to hold his wrists behind his back.

'I doubt that, Magister. Things are changing on Haraendon, Magister Tranaedan. We can't afford people like you risking the deal we have just struck to secure our future food supplies. You need...re-educating, by whatever means necessary to ensure you can adapt to our new society. Once you understand that, we'll consider releasing you again.'

Sheppard wasn't sure what re-educating them by whatever means necessary meant, but he hoped it hurt as much as what these two had done to him and so many others. At a signal from Thalaezin, the magister was dragged screaming and yelling from the house, Ashnael just behind him. Sheppard watched Ashnael pass, the man's eyes on him and smirking the whole time. Apparently, Thalaezin's words held less fear for him, but since he seemed to get off on pain, perhaps the thought of re-education sounded more exciting than languishing in a cell alone. As the government security officers led them both away, he deliberately brushed shoulders with Sheppard, a solid contact that knocked him a little unsteady...a reminder than he, too, was still feeling the effects of all he'd endured on that planet.

Again, Ronon launched for Ashnael, and again he was held back by Lorne and his team. 'Let it go, Ronon!' Sheppard ordered. 'It's in the hands of the authorities now.'

'And you really think they'll deal with this?' the Satedan growled, bearing his teeth in a ferocious sneer.

Sheppard looked to Thalaezin, who gave him a nod to assure him they would. 'Yeah, I do. Now let's get those two bodies out of here.'

'Us?' Rodney squeaked. 'Can't the government deal with this?'

Sheppard sighed, sorry to be putting the nervous scientist through all this, but he'd insisted on coming along, even when he'd told him it wouldn't be an easy trip. 'I know you wanna go back, Rodney, but first, we have to get these pilots home...and we have to do it right.'

He took the first minister aside and explained what had happened to the pilots, the man listening carefully and apparently moved by the tale. 'Leave it in my hands, Colonel Sheppard. I'll make some calls and ensure we have everything we need.'

Elizabeth frowned at Sheppard, her mouth twisting up into a slight smile. 'What are you up to?'

'Just making sure what needs to be done is done,' he assured her. 'Let's get them into the jumper. The first minister'll join us when he's done.'

As he took a few steps he found himself unsteady again, grateful for the support Teyla immediately loaned him. 'It has taken great courage for you to come here today, John. I am sure if these men could talk, they would express their gratitude for what you are doing on their behalf.'

He smiled his thanks, leaning more heavily on her than he would have liked until they got to the jumper and he was able to sit down again. Carson was on him like a flash, ensuring he could continue. Sheppard appreciated the medic's concern, but he wasn't about to give up now.

The body bags were carefully laid out on the floor, and a respectful silence descended, even Rodney silenced by the solemn task ahead of them.

Elizabeth, sitting in the seat behind him, reached forward and squeezed his shoulder to show her solidarity, and he nodded, turning away to look out of the windshield, unable to control the shuddering breaths forcing themselves in and out of his tight lungs.

Thalaezin was with then only a few moments later, walking up behind the pilot seat. 'I have made the necessary arrangements. I'll guide you where we need to go first.'

Lorne looked to Sheppard for his instruction, and he just nodded, still finding it too hard to speak. This was going to be one of the hardest things he'd ever done, but it was necessary. He was determined to hold it together until this was done.

Lorne set the ship in motion, and the two former Tranaedan pilots began their final flight.

* * *

**A/N: So we're almost there - just one more chapter to go, and it will be posted tomorrow morning when I've done my final edits. Not too long to wait. :)**


	40. Chapter 40

**Chapter 40 **

Thalaezin announced their arrival to the owners of a home on the western outskirts of the occupied areas of Traginta Duo, and as the elaborate gates of the property drew back, Lorne steered their ship in and set it down gently outside the ornate frontage.

'I think it would be appropriate for you to go to the door, Colonel Sheppard,' Thalaezin told him. 'I am sure they will be pleased to see you.'

He nodded, and pushed up stiffly from his seat, annoyed at how quickly his body seized up whenever he sat still. Carson threw him a look that told him to be patient with himself, one that left him wondering if the doctor was related to the afflicted himself. The man certainly had an uncanny knack for knowing exactly what he was thinking at any given time.

Teyla caught his arm as he passed her. 'Perhaps one of us should come with you, Colonel.'

'No...it's okay. I think it's better if I break this news to them alone.'

He headed out the back of the jumper, squeezing past their precious cargo, both men now encased in impressive coffins. Thalaezin had been more than accommodating as far as burial arrangements went for the two pilots, pulling the strings his position allowed him to put everything in place for the service to be carried out without delay.

The door was just opening as he reached it. Raelzine was the first person he saw in the opening, her jaw dropping in shock, then a smile transforming her face as she ran the few paces separating them and threw her arms around him. 'Ja...John!' she corrected herself, gathering him into a crushing hug he didn't want to break even though it hurt. Thankfully, she let go of him quite quickly, pushing him back and holding him at arm's length. 'Look at you! You look so well! The last time I saw you...' she choked, covering her mouth as she struggled to find the words to express herself. 'I...I thought I should never see you alive again,' she finally managed to sob out, tears of joy and relief slipping down her lined cheeks.

Behind her, Sheppard spotted Lanae watching them, a broad grin splitting her face. Remembering she was there, Raelzine stepped aside and let her approach. She, too, hugged Sheppard and cried into his jacket, telling him how pleased she was to see him again.

'So...a new home, huh?' he said as they separated, gazing up at the magnificent entrance.

'The owners are good to us here...not that the Tranaedans were as bad as some...at least not to us.' Realzine looked back over her shoulder and Sheppard realised he could see two figures loitering further back down the corridor that lay behind the door. From the way they were dressed, he assumed the man and woman were the new owners she'd mentioned, but when he looked their way, they ducked out of sight, giving them privacy.

Thalaezin had spoken to the householders there personally via the jumper's communication system and explained what they were planning. As a result, Raelzine's and Lanae's new owners had agreed to give the two of them time off from their duties to spend time with the Atlantis team. So it seemed not all of the householders in Traginta Duo were unreasonable people – he'd just been unfortunate enough to stumble into the paths of those who were. Of course, the fact the request had come from the first minister had no doubt held some sway, but whatever the reason for their co operation, he was glad of it.

'You look so different in your uniform...so smart. Quite the important man you told me you were,' Raelzine smiled proudly, brushing at his jacket front. 'I always knew you were more than just a slave.'

'We're all more than _just_ slaves,' he pointed out. 'You should never forget that.'

'I've heard whispers that times are changing,' she said, dropping her voice so her owners would not hear. 'I've heard the magister and his wife here say we are to be given more rights. Is this your doing?'

'Been listening at doors, Raelzine?' he quipped, and the sudden florid hue of her cheeks told him he'd hit pretty close to the mark. 'Well, it's not all down to me...but yeah, hopefully things will be even better for you guys soon. It's no more than you deserve.'

She hugged him again, and Sheppard, though uncomfortable, put his arms around her, too, happy for her to demonstrate her joy. There had been so little of it in Raelzine's life from what he'd seen, it killed him to think he was about to bring her spirits crashing down again. But this was something he had to do, and hard as this news would be for her to take, it would bring her some closure and help her move on in this new phase of her life.

She let go of him again and wiped the tears from her cheeks. 'Now I understand why the magistra told us to wear our best clothes this evening. So, now you have satisfied yourself that we are well and happy, I suppose you plan to fly back out of our lives and forget all about us?' she joked.

'Not exactly,' he confessed, chewing his lip as her eyes fixed on his, full of questions. 'I've come here...'He stopped, realising he really hadn't thought about how to word this. 'I've been to the Tranaedan house and...' He cursed himself and took a deep breath, starting over with a more direct approach. 'I found your son's body, Raelzine. I'm here to give you the chance to lay him to rest.'

Lanae was the first to react, a pained sob escaping her lips before she could contain it. Without looking, Raelzine reached back and groped for the girl's hand, grabbing it and holding it tight.

'Manstaen? You found him?' she clarified.

He nodded, biting down on his lip as her eyes dissolved into watery pools in front of him.

'They didn't bury him?'

He shook his head.

'Whe...where was he?' she asked, trying to stay strong enough to get the answers to her questions.

There was no need to burden her with the full truth, so he simply said, 'He was in the house...I guess they planned to move the body out some time, but didn't get round to it.'

She nodded, her eyes dropping to the ground. 'All that time he was so close by...and I never knew.'

'Well, he's here now, and it's time to lay him to rest where he should be.'

'Here?' She looked puzzled, then gazed out beyond him to where the jumper sat. He turned and saw that everyone on board the jumper had disembarked and now stood in two lines either side of the open rear hatch, forming an isle leading to where the coffins lay.

'We found him and Faraenal. We're taking them both to the burial grounds.'

She barely seemed to hear him, already heading toward the jumper a few paces still clutching Lanae's hand and taking the girl with her, her steps faltering and shaky. She stopped and looked back at him, and he knew she was looking for him to lead the way. He responded to her unspoken request immediately, striding out toward the jumper with the women just behind him.

Everyone there bowed their heads as they passed, even the first minister, which Sheppard took as a moving sign of respect for the two dead men. He led the way inside the jumper, standing to one side as the two women entered and gazed open-mouthed at the two coffins.

'He's in the one closest to you,' he said. He'd arranged it that way so they wouldn't have to climb past Faraenal to reach him.

Raelzine at last let go of her grip on Lanae, kneeling beside the coffin and tentatively laying her hand on top of it, trembling as she did so. 'My poor boy,' she whispered, so quietly he almost couldn't make out what she'd said. 'My poor, poor, boy!'

She stroked her hand across the polished metal box, with finely cast birds decorating the sides. Thalaezin had insisted Sheppard accompany him into the casket maker's workshop to help him choose suitable coffins for the two men, and somehow birds had seemed the most appropriate decoration for two men who loved to fly. Because they were hand-crafted, the caskets were individual, the birds a different breed on each. Manstaen's casket bore something resembling eagles, whereas Faraenal's box had much smaller birds moulded into its surface, but each was beautiful in its own way.

'Such a fine casket...I could never have hoped to give him this kind of send off,' Raelzine told him, her voice cracking with emotion.

Lanae knelt the other side of it and laid her palm on it, too, tears sliding silently down her face as she allowed Raelzine the greater measure of the grieving. The older woman rocked slightly as she gazed at the polished casket, stroking it and quietly singing something that he took to be a Haraendon lullaby...it had that kind of cadence to it.

Sheppard backed out down the ramp to give them some privacy. Everyone else had already moved away, giving the women space to mourn their loss, an opportunity they had previously been denied by their heartless former owners.

'How are they coping?' Elizabeth asked, her large eyes glistening in the fading light of the setting sun.

'About as well as you'd expect,' he told her, looking around at all the people waiting there. Every one of them looked moved by the experience of these two women, and he supposed he understood why. Death was something inescapable – it touched every life. They had all lost someone, and seeing Raelzine and Lanae's pain brought back painful memories for each and every one of them.

'That poor woman,' Carson sighed, hearing Raelzine's sobs echoing out across the enclosed yard. 'It's not natural for a mother to bury her child.'

'In a galaxy such as ours, it is not as unusual as you would wish it to be,' Teyla told him sadly. 'For most, the Wraith bring death indiscriminately, but here, man has turned his hand against his fellow man in cruelty...that is the saddest thing of all.'

'Too true, love. Too true,' the Scot nodded. 'But whatever the cause of death, it never gets any easier.'

Eventually, after Raelzine's cries became more controlled, Thalaezin took it upon himself to approach her and speak quietly of their plans for her son. Sheppard watched the back of the jumper, only Thalaezin standing in the ramp actually in view, and waited for their cue to act.

After a few more moments it came, Thalaezin turning and gesturing for them all to return to the ship.

Sheppard hung back and let everyone else pass, he and Thalaezin sitting beside the two women to accompany them on the short journey to the burial ground. As the craft lifted, Raelzine reached out and grabbed Sheppard's hand, gripping it so tightly all his bones ground against one another. He supposed she might never have flown before, her position in the house would never have required her to travel anywhere with her owners. He smiled, wishing her first flight hadn't been under such tragic circumstances. On any other occasion he would have tried to fill her with the kind of enthusiasm and wonder he felt when flying, but here...now...that would have been completely inappropriate. Or perhaps it was simply the magnitude of what they were about to do that made her seek out his hand, he couldn't be sure. So he just held her hand and hoped she got some comfort from that, whatever it was that troubled her most.

They'd flown past the burial grounds on the way there, so Lorne was able to take them back there without further guidance. He set the ship down at the back of the cemetery, and the marines, Lorne, Ronon and Beckett, all took one of the four handles on the two caskets and carried them slowly and carefully from the back of the jumper and on down the gradual slope that led to the graves that had been hurriedly dug for them.

It was growing dark now, and several phosphorescent lamps burned on the top of staffs that had been jabbed into the ground around the graves, bathing the area in a sickly yellow hue. The graves themselves weren't as deep as was traditional for Earth burials, but Sheppard supposed that might be the way they did things here on Haraendon...either that or they simply hadn't had time to dig them any deeper. Two men loitered to the side of the walled grounds, leaning on a transporter. The fact they both leaned on shovels told him they posed no threat. They were just waiting to complete their job once the service was over.

As they approached the graveside he heard Raelzine begin to sob again, and he freed his hand from hers to wrap his arm around her shoulders for additional support. He felt her trembling against him, the reality of her son's death suddenly so much the harder to bear now she had an actual body to bury. At the instruction of a man standing beside those graves, the coffins were lowered onto what looked like cushions within the holes, resting there while the preacher gave them a blessing from the Ancestors. Sheppard zoned out during the words, his mind wandering to the horrific nightmare after Tranaedan had beaten him senseless, the one where, for a moment, he had been inside Manstaen's body and suffered the same fate the young man had endured. It sent shivers through him as he looked at the casket, this burial still so much less justice than Raelzine's son deserved.

To their left, he noticed several recent graves, a thick, white mist hanging over one of them. As he watched, it gradually seeped into the ground, disappearing slowly through the soil. It struck him as odd, but then it was forgotten as the service moved on, and both Raelzine and Lanae were handed a single white flower, another one passed to the first minister.

The preacher pulled a long, fine needle from a sheath and prodded holes into the thick, airtight material of the cushions, the air slowly releasing and gracefully lowering the caskets into their final resting places. Following that, he chanted various prayers, and after each one, the women and Thalaezin dropped a single petal from the flowers they still held onto the caskets. Once the petals were all gone, the service was over, and the preacher stepped away to give the women time alone at the graveside.

The first minister approached the man quietly, keeping his voice low. 'Thank you for attending such a late service, Praedicatio Ulraedin. Under such special circumstances, your co operation is very much appreciated.'

The man waved his thanks aside. 'Well, I hope not to have to make a habit of this, but everyone deserves a proper burial. It would not have been appropriate to refuse.'

Sheppard wandered a little further away, heading over to the grave where the mist had been sitting a little earlier. Although all the graves around it, even those either side of it, bore small plaques with names on them, that one was unmarked. He felt someone arrive beside him, and looking up found Thalaezin staring down at the grave along with him.

'This is where Magistra Tranaedan now rests,' he told him. 'Her husband would not allow her to be buried with his name or even in the burial grounds for our upper classes. This is the slaves' graveyard...after what we now know about her, she's lucky to even be buried here. But we have no idea what to call her.'

For a moment or two, Sheppard was too lost in thinking about the significance of the mist he'd seen hanging over her grave for the first minister's words to sink in. 'Lucky? What do you mean?'

'The afflicted aren't allowed anywhere near our cities. They were believed to be damaging...poisonous somehow. The fact she lived among us for so long undiscovered has proved that theory to be wrong. It's shown us that people like her can be part of our society without wreaking havoc.'

Sheppard looked over to the two open graves, not sure he agreed with that hypothesis. Poisonous was a damned good way of describing what Magistra Tranaedan was, and she'd wreaked havoc in the lives of the two pilots and the two women now mourning them. The woman had completely changed herself, denied what she was and betrayed her own kind to be accepted into this society and become one of its great women. It seemed suitable somehow that she now lay in an unmarked grave, the sum total of her efforts amounting to nothing.

'With the changes now afoot for us, her demise has come at a critical time. It has opened our eyes to the fact the afflicted may not be as dangerous as we thought. So I suppose her death may not have been completely in vain,' Thalaezin told him, rubbing his arms against the cold Sheppard noticed seeping though this own clothing now, too. With the sun now gone, the cold night was setting in, and the phosphorescent lamps gave scant heat, certainly not enough to keep them warm at this distance.

A thin wisp of mist curled up from the ground and carried away on the slight breeze now ruffling his hair. Sheppard sighed and looked back at the women again, both of them still kneeling beside Manstaen's grave.

'We will have to move them along soon. The diggers need to back-fill the graves before they can go home tonight.'

Sheppard nodded, his heart aching for them, especially Raelzine. 'Let me speak to them,' he said, starting out in their direction. Thankfully, Thalaezin had the good sense to give him space to do that.

Sheppard crouched beside Raelzine, and waited for her to look his way. She did, her eyes red from crying. 'I loved him...just as any mother loves her child. I lied when I said it was different for slaves. It isn't. I've missed every one of my children. But Manstaen...Manstaen was the one who stayed with me for the longest. I saw him grow up from a scrap of a child into a fine young man...I loved him...but I never once told him that.'

Though her words broke his heart, he knew he couldn't show it. He needed to be strong for her, just as she had been strong for him when he'd needed her. 'I think he knew, Raelzine. Mothers have a way of showing these things without needing to say it.'

'But I should have...I should have said it...I should have been there for him.' She dissolved into tears again, rocking while Lanae tried to comfort her.

Sheppard couldn't help but be glad she hadn't been there. The truth of what had happened to her son was likely to haunt him for the rest of his life; he doubted there was any way a mother could get over such brutality committed against her flesh and blood.

'Did he suffer?'

It was the question he'd been dreading her asking, but he'd been thinking of how to answer it all the same. He didn't hesitate. 'There was no sign that he did,' he lied. 'I imagine his death was instantaneous.'

'That's something...that's something,' she whispered, gazing down at the beautiful silver casket, the lamplight reflected in its surface.

Though it was a lie, Sheppard couldn't feel bad about it. It was what she needed to hear. The truth would have done no one any good now.

'We have to leave,' he told her, seeing the reaction first in Lanae's face, then in Raelzine's as she looked up at him with pleading eyes.

'I can't leave him...I can't go. He's all alone out here...he doesn't know these people. I have to stay with him!'

Sheppard felt his lip begin to tremble, so he sucked it in, trying to control the moisture building in his own eyes. He remembered watching his mother buried when he'd been just a child, having to be dragged away from the side of her grave because he couldn't bear to be parted from her. When she'd died, the house had fallen into chaos, his father veering from terrifyingly angry to pitifully tearful without any warning. He and Dave had spent days hiding out in their rooms, hoping it would blow over while trying to deal with their own overwhelming sense of loss. When the coffin had been brought home the day before the funeral, calm had descended along with it, and even though they couldn't actually see her, it felt as if her spirit was amongst them again, her love giving them strength and normality just for that brief time. Leaving the graveside had been like losing her a second time, as if she'd died all over again. And then, two days later, a terrible storm had hit town, and he'd snuck down to the umbrella stand, taken his father's biggest golfing umbrella and walked the four and half miles to the cemetery to sit over her grave and shelter her from the worst of it. She'd always hated thunder, so he'd stayed with her and talked to her to let her know she wasn't alone.

So, though he knew Raelzine's feelings weren't rational, he also knew they weren't unusual. It was hard to think of the living suddenly unable to see, hear or feel anything. Grieving relatives still imbued their lost loved ones with all the qualities they had possessed in life.

'He has Faraenal. They can swap flying stories,' he said gently taking hold of her shoulders and guiding her to her feet.

'That's true...that's true,' she nodded, grasping onto his words and the small amount of comfort the thought brought her. 'When he was younger, he used to love going to the transport store and helping him clean the ships. They got on well until Faraenal disappeared...but he went two years ago. Where did you find him?'

'That's not important now,' he said, unable to explain that away. 'All that matters is he's where he should be now, and Manstaen doesn't have to be alone here.'

'He came to us from another household after his owner died of old age. I remember him as a mere slip of a lad, but he would probably be your age,' she reminisced, and Sheppard again thought it best to let her hold on to those happier memories of the man. There was no need for anyone else to know how much he'd suffered.

'But this is the last time I'll ever be near Manstaen, isn't it?' she croaked, her chest hitching as she struggled to speak through her tears. 'Once I return to the house, I'll never be allowed to come here again.'

'That's not true. Things are changing, Raelzine. You heard it yourself; you're going to get more rights. You'll be free to move beyond the house. You can come here whenever you want to.'

Through her pain, she somehow found her smile. 'That would be good...' Then she pulled him into a fierce hug. 'You've done so much for us...but this...giving my son back to me...I can never repay you for this.'

'You don't need to...you were a good friend when I needed one. I'm just returning the favour.'

She buried her face into his chest and cried some more and he just held her, letting her get it all out. For now, she was still a slave, and once she returned to her owners, she would be expected to perform her duties without fuss. So, this was her one and only time to cry her heart out. He couldn't cut it short.

Teyla moved in and took charge of Lanae. Although she had been fond of Manstaen, Sheppard got the impression their relationship had been newly discovered and their feelings had not reached their full potential depth. She clearly missed him, but her pain was not as keen as Raelzine's, not by any stretch of the imagination.

Eventually, Raelzine summoned up the immense strength it took to accept she had to leave. 'I'm ready to go back now,' she told Sheppard, pushing away from him. 'I just need to say goodbye one last time.'

He nodded and walked a few steps away to give her space to do that, looking back in time to see her kneel beside the grave, kiss her fingers and reach down to pass the kiss to her son, touching her fingertips to his casket. After that, she stood up again, instructed Faraenal to take good care of her boy, then walked confidently back to the jumper.

Sheppard smiled to himself as she passed him, a mask of composure now sitting on her tear-stained face. He knew then that Raelzine would get through this, just as he had got through his own loss, but he promised himself he would not fly away and forget about her. No matter how uncomfortable it made him, he would come back and see her sometimes.

oooOOOooo

By the time they had all got back to Atlantis and gone through their post mission check-ups, Sheppard was exhausted. It was all he could do to stagger his way back to his room and collapse on the bed. Taking of his clothes was unthinkable.

He lay back and let all the tension of the day drain from his body. His old injuries nagged at him, telling him he'd pushed himself too hard, but he already knew that. Still, it had felt a necessary thing to do, and he was glad he'd done it. Faraenal and Manstaen were finally at peace, and Realzine and Lanae could at last begin the difficult process of moving on. Somehow, those two things alone made everything he'd been through just that little bit more worthwhile.

It was only now, with his entire role in the situation over, that he realised how lucky he had been to leave Haraendon alive. Risking life and limb was all part of the job, but when he'd signed up to the air force all those years ago back on Earth, he'd never imagined he would face the kind of horrors that assaulted them out here in the Pegasus Galaxy. He took a deep breath and felt himself relax a little more, the welcome fuzziness of sleep beginning to envelope him already, only moments after lying down.

Just as he was about to succumb, his door chime sounded. Too tired to open it himself, he called for whoever was out there to let themselves in, hoping it wouldn't take long.

It was Teyla. She edged into the room, clearly concerned by the subdued lighting and his lack of movement. 'Are you feeling unwell?' she asked, approaching his bedside.

Not wishing her to worry, he immediately dispelled her fears. 'Nah...just tired.'

'Then I probably already know the answer to my next question. Ronon, Rodney and I are about to go for some supper. Would you care to join us?'

He rubbed his face hard, considering it for a moment, but realising food wasn't all that important to him right now. 'I'll take a rain check. How about breakfast?'

She smiled warmly, nodding. 'I will call for you in the morning. Sleep well.'

'I'll do my best.'

Once she was gone, his mind started ticking over with thoughts of the people he'd left behind on Haraendon. He wondered how Raelzine was coping tonight, knowing where her son was at last. At some level, it was probably easier for her now she knew, but it would take some time to come to terms with the reality of burying her child.

And his mind drifted to Dezrin. He hadn't thought about the boy too often because he was desperately trying to put the whole creepy experience with his owner out of his mind. Still, Ashnael was out of the boy's life now, and locked away for the moment where he couldn't do anyone else any harm. Hopefully, by the time he was a free man again, the rights of the subclasses would have improved to the point that his behaviour would be considered a criminal act and he'd find himself back behind bars the very first time he tried something unsavoury. But that didn't change what had happened to Dezrin, or the terror Ashnael had instilled in the young boys serving in his house, all the time wondering when they would become his "favourite". They had to do something for them. So he decided that tomorrow he would go talk things through with Heightmeyer. They needed to put some kind of programme of therapy together for abused slaves as well as those people who had been part of the government's breeding programme. Thalaezin's talks with the Dalmarians appeared to have had a positive effect on his thinking. He seemed like he might be open to that kind of help now, and if he wasn't, they would just have to negotiate it in there somehow.

Unfortunately, all that thinking had him more awake now. So, he decided he would take a shower to try to get more relaxed again, hoping the heat would help him feel sleepy.

It was a struggle to get upright, but once he was on his feet he was glad he'd made the effort. Meeting up with Tranaedan and Ashnael on Haraendon had left him with an overwhelming desire to shower that he hadn't been able to do anything about until now, and he knew he would enjoy a much better night's sleep if he got cleaned up and into more comfortable sleeping gear.

He switched on the shower and left the water to adjust to the right temperature as he looked at himself in the mirror. His eyes were circled with dark rings, his face a little drawn from the weight he'd lost while recovering from surgery, but it was nothing rest and some food wouldn't fix. He reminded himself again that he was lucky to be here to even think about whether he wanted to eat or not, lucky to have scars to show what he'd been through. Faraenal and Manstaen hadn't been as lucky as him. The magistra had lured them in and her husband had disposed of them in ways he didn't even want to think about right now. It was over now. He had to stop thinking about it or he would drive himself insane.

He slipped out of his uniform, leaving it in a pile and promising himself he would sort them out in the morning. It could wait until then; it wasn't like he was on duty tomorrow so the crumpled gear didn't really matter.

The shower brought welcome warmth to his body, and for a while he just let it cascade over him, closing his eyes and letting it hit his face and run the full length of his body. He'd spent so long feeling filthy and unkempt on Haraendon that having his own shower now seemed like the most luxurious thing in the world. After a while, with the warm air in his lungs making him feel a little short of breath and light headed, he decided to wash himself down and get into bed for the night.

As he lathered himself up the steam thickened around him, growing opaque and claustrophobic and leaving him gasping for air. Overwhelmed by the need to get free of it, he stumbled back out into his bathroom, the cooler air beyond the cubicle immediately refreshing him and giving him the air he needed...the air his panic attack had deprived him of. He wrapped a towel around his hips and leaned back against the wall, gathering himself. He'd never felt that way in the shower before, not even since his surgery, so he doubted it was anything physical. It was most likely because he was emotionally drained and he'd thought too much about things he really needed to put behind him now.

The steam within the cubicle continued to swirl in thick plumes as he watched it through the gap in the glazed units. Then something odd happened, a line appeared in the steam on the inside of the glass, a clear straight line, one that couldn't simply have been cause by a water droplet making a course down the glass. After that another appeared and, then still more marks, each of them scrawling through the steam at the same speed and making definite marks for him to see in the condensation. When the surreal process stopped, he saw something written there.

_Halaeni._

He frowned, his heart thumping against his ribs as if it was actually trying to fight its way out. He edged forward, reaching out and touching the glass. The writing had definitely been done on the inside of the cubicle, but it was empty now he was out here, filled with nothing but steam.

Halaeni...so what did that mean? Was this another message from the sensory? Had he really not finished with him yet?

A tendril of steam plumed its way out, curling in the air in front of him and forcing him to back away from it. Then a face emerged, just for a second, mere millimetres from his own.

'_My name,'_ a voice whispered, barely audible, and then the mist, the word and the sound was gone, leaving him alone and trembling, the water now chilled on his raised follicles.

He knew now what it meant. It hadn't been the sensory at all, it was the magistra, and she'd wanted to tell him her name. Well, he was damned if he was going to share that name with anyone else, even if it meant she would plague him for the rest of his life. She deserved to be nameless...it was right that she be forgotten. She'd forgotten everything she was, all the values that made her people different from those in the cities, so, no, he wouldn't help to immortalise her, even if it would only be in a paupers' graveyard.

He staggered through to his bedroom and slumped down on the edge of his bed. But what about her family? Didn't they deserve to know the truth about her, just as Raelzine had deserved the truth? Perhaps...if they were still alive. Maybe he would do that much, trace her family and let them know, but the grave would remain unmarked. From the corner of his eye he thought he saw the mist again, but it was gone when he turned to check. With no evidence any of it had really happened, he chose to put it down to a hallucination created by his exhausted brain, deciding to waste no more time on it. The Pegasus Galaxy already housed enough scary things without him worrying about ghosts, too.

But his room felt suddenly too quiet, and the air too cold. He ordered the heating up while he dressed, along with the lights so he could be sure nothing was lurking in the shadows. Once he'd pulled on a sweatshirt and jogging pants he decided he might be hungry enough to eat after all, and radioed through to Teyla to see if she was still in the mess.

She was, and assured him she and the rest of his team would wait for him to join them, something that made him feel instantly better. A hot meal and the company of sane, rational people would soon chase away his childish fears, he told himself as he headed out the door for the nearest transporter.

As he rode the transporter a voice once more whispered, _'Halaeni,' _very close to his ear, setting his skin prickling.

Again he chose to tell himself it was his imagination, the product of days of mistreatment and nightmarish threats at the hands of a cruel race he was now helping to fix. In time he would be fixed, too, and the voices and nightmares would cease to plague him. That was all he needed, more time...

...and perhaps that quiet word with Dr Heightmeyer Elizabeth had been suggesting.

The End

* * *

**A/N: So there it is, all finished. I'd like to take this opportuntity to thank my two beta's once again - Sterenyk Strey for her suggestions for added extras that helped make some of my chapters really shine when I felt they were falling short, and also lizlou57 whose sharp eyes caught all my leftover typos and discrepencies once I was too word blind and tired to see them anymore! I really appreciated the help. :D**

**Finally, thank you to everyone who took the considerable time involved to read this story. If you enjoyed it enough to read it right to the end, please leave a comment to let me know what you think. :)**


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